THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


BILDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK 


THE  NOTIONS  AND  EXPERIENCES 
OF  A  QUAINT  RURAL  PHILOSO 
PHER  WHO  THINKS  FOR  HIMSELF. 


KDITKD  BY 

THOMAS  N.  IVEY 

Editor  Raleigh  Christian  Advocate 
and  Southern  Methodist  Handbook 


MUTUAL  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

RALBIOU,  N.  C. 


COPYRIGHT,  DECEMBER,  1909, 

BY 

THOMAS  N.  IVEY. 
SECOND  EDITION,  MARCH,  1910. 


?s 

3.102, 


DEDICATION. 
To  THOSE  MEN  AND  WOMEN  WHOSE 

LIFE  CIRCLE  WAS  NARROWED  GEOGRAPH 
ICALLY,  EDUCATIONALLY,  AND  SOCIALLY 
BY  THE  RUGGED  FORCES  OF  A  GENERATION 
NOW  GONE,  WHO  BOAST  OF  NO  HALL 
MARK  SAVE  THAT  OF  HIGH  CHRISTIAN 
MANHOOD  AND  WOMANHOOD,  BUT  WHO, 
BY  THE  GRACE  OF  GOD,  SOBER  INDUSTRY, 
AND  SIMPLE  RECTITUDE,  AND  THROUGH 
THE  RICHNESS  OF  THAT  LEGACY  RECEIVED 
FROM  ANCESTORS  OF  PURE  BLOOD  AND  A 
SOUND  CONSCIENCE  HAVE  BECOME  THE 
REPOSITORIES  OF  A  WISDOM  WHICH  BE 
LONGS  TO  THE  BEST  AND  LARGEST  LIFE. 


550087 


EDITOR'S  STATEMENT. 

There  have  appeared  from  time  to  time,  dur 
ing  the  last  six  years,  in  the  Raleigh  Christian 
Advocate,  organ  of  the  North  Carolina  Confer 
ence,  Methodist  Episcopal  Church,  South,  a  num 
ber  of  letters  written  by  one  who  signed  him 
self  "Bildad  Akers";  also  editorials  embodying 
interviews  with  the  quaint  old  philosopher  of 
Biblical  name.  Bildad  Akers  at  once  became  a 
favorite  with  the  readers  of  the  Advocate.  His 
sayings  were  quoted  far  and  wide.  Great  curi 
osity  as  to  his  personality  and  abiding  place  was 
evinced  by  many.  The  editor  deems  it  sufficient 
to  say  only  that  our  philosopher  is  Bildad  Akers. 

So  many  requests  for  the  publication  of  the 
articles  and  letters  in  book  form  have  been  made 
that  the  editor  feels  that  he  has  no  right  to  deny 
the  request.  He  presents  "Bildad  Akers:  His 
Book"  to  the  reading  public.  In  doing  so  he  feels 
that  he  is  presenting  a  book  which,  neither  fic 
tion  nor  biography,  and  by  no  means  belonging 
to  what  some  call  "high  literature,"  is  never 
theless  one  of  the  most  serious  books  that  can 
be  written.  For  in  the  heart  of  almost  every  par 
agraph  there  lies  a  valuable  lesson  for  some  one. 
Let  no  one  suppose  for  a  moment  that  Bildad 
Akers  is  frivolous.  The  editor  can  testify  that 


EDITOR'S  STATEMENT. 

every  line  of  the  book  w*as  written  from  the 
standpoint  of  a  high  moral  purpose.  May  the 
book  serve  to  brighten  the  eye,  illuminate  the 
mind,  and  strengthen  the  heart  of  the  reader. 

THOMAS  N.  IVEY. 
RALEIGH,  N.  C.,  Nov.  10,  1909. 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  BILDAD  AKERS  GOES  TO  THE  "DEES- 

TRICT"  CONFERENCE   19 

His  daughter  objects  to  his  duster — His 
views  on  traveling — His  experience  at  the 
depot — His  home  at  the  "Jedge's" — Talking 
delegates — Hears  his  preacher  —  Rebukes 
preachers  who  talk  too  much — Goes  to  sleep 
during  a  long  prayer — Explains  a  mystery 
connected  with  open-air  preaching. 

II.  AFTER  THE  FAIR 29 

A  rainy  Saturday  after  the  Fair — Replies 
to  the  strictures  of  brother  Ben — A  preach 
er  at  the  table — Sam  Moon's  discomfiture — 
How  the  preachers  received  the  "jiners" — 
The  "  Quarterly." 

III.  BILBAO'S  FIRST  VISIT  TO  THE  "OLD 

ROLLY " 37 

The  editor  meets  Bildad  Akers — Bildad  tells 
why  he  had  not  written  to  the  Advocate  for 
some  time — Tells  of  the  prayer-meeting  he 
had  attended  the  night  before — Mistakes  a 
concert  crowd  for  worshipers — Advises  the 
abolition  of  the  prayer-meeting — He  gives 
his  reasons  therefor — Indulges  in  some  prac 
tical  philosophy  on  the  subject  of  church 
loyalty. 

IV.  INTERVIEW  WITH  BILDAD  AKERS  ON 

A  TRAIN   47 

Bildad  and  the  conductor — He  explains  why 
he  went  to  town — Tells  about  his  experience 
at  the  town  church  on  Sunday — Lectures  his 
daughter,  who  is  inclined  to  "siety" — Dis 
cusses  the  sermon — Gives  his  views  on  the 
"new  order  of  worship" — Discusses  the  crit 
icism  of  long  sermons. 

V.  BILDAD  AKERS  AND  STREET  PREACH 
ING  5T 

Bildad  is  found  listening  to  a  street  ser 
mon — He  is  carried  by  the  editor  to  the 
office  —  He  defends  street  preaching  —  A 
strange  interpretation  of  the  Great  Com 
mission — He  says  that  the  Gospel  must  be 
carried  to  the  people. 


Tiii  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PA.OI 

VI.  THE  FIRST  QUARTERLY  MEETING  OF 

THE  YEAR  67 

A  puzzling  letter — Bildad  tells  why  Cap'n 
Hanks  and  Boee  King  were  at  the  "fust 
quarterly" — A  great  hurry  to  get  through 
the  "quarterly" — The  sale  at  Jinks's — The 
"elder"  scores  the  "preecher" — Bildad  makes 
a  speech  when  Brother  Reems  wants  the 
preacher  to  absent  himself  when  his  salary 
is  to  he  fixed — Bildad  gains  a  great  vic 
tory — Cap'n  Hanks  and  Bose  King  wrestle 
over  the  assessments  of  their  respective 
churches — The  ignorance  of  "ole  Jimmy 
Deeton" — A  tribute  to  Bildad  Akers. 
VII.  A  REMEDY  FOR  A  SICKLY  PRAYER- 
MEETING  79 

Bildad  attends  the  Bryan  celebration — He 
takes  in  a  "pra'r-meetin" — He  is  rejoiced  to 
find  that  the  "pra'r-meetin"  is  according  to 
his  idea — He  tells  how  to  get  the  people 
out — He  draws  a  lesson  from  Jake  Baggart 
and  his  corn  shuckings — He  uses  "Lizy"  and 
the  dried-apple  pie  to  illustrate  the  value  of 
variety  in  services — Bildad  asks  about  the 
spelling  of  President  Roosevelt  and  is  com 
forted. 
VIII.  A  BEWILDERING  BUT  INTERESTING 

LETTER 89 

Why  he  didn't  go  to  the  Fair — "Lizy"  keeps 
him  from  going  to  Raleigh  on  circus  day — 
His  weakness  as  shown  in  his  love  of  a 
"steam  pianny" — The  "big  meetin" — Good 
grub  versus  the  Spirit — Bildad  lectures  the 
preacher  for  using  a  "currycome"  and  the 
people  for  foundering  themselves  on  good 
rations — Bildad  saves  the  day — He  thinks 
"Ole  Ebenezer"  will  "pull  through" — He 
makes  a  plea  for  the  men  "in  the  woods." 

IX.  BILDAD  GOES  TO  COMMENCEMENT. . .  99 
Bildad  apologizes  for  his  long  silence — He 
discusses  hard  times — Old  Peter  McGillis — 
Bildad  admonishes  all  to  trust  in  Provi 
dence — He  tells  of  a  Sunday  School  in  win 
ter  quarters — He  attends  commencement — 


CONTENTS.  ii 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

He  gives  his  opinion  of  pigeon-tailed  coate — 
He  is  enthusiastic  over  his  church  college. 

X.  AN  OCTOBER  LETTER 109 

"Brother  Tomas"  as  a  poet — Under  the  in 
fluence  of  the  poetry — Bildad  makes  up  a 
purse  with  which  to  send  his  preacher  to 
"Jeemstown" —  Unhooking  the  preacher's 
horse — Feeding  the  preacher — A  preacher 
with  the  "blues" — The  preacher  responsible 
for  the  scattering  of  his  "jiners" — The 
"preacherfied  look"  as  considered  by  Bildad 
— A  preacher  should  be  a  man,  not  a  cross 
"betwixt  a  mail  and  a  femail  pusson." 
XI.  BILDAD  AKERS  AT  THE  ANNUAL  CON 
FERENCE  121 

The  fears  of  "Lizy" — Bildad  speaks  of  the 
kindness  of  his  friends  at  Conference — His 
enjoyment  of  New  Bern — He  likes  the  Bish 
op — He  discusses  the  Laymen's  Movement — 
The  "Jint  Board  of  Finances" — His  impres 
sions  of  the  church  building — His  indigna 
tion  over  the  defilement  of  the  carpet  with 
tobacco  juice — He  attributes  the  outrage  to 
"furriners." 

XII.  BILDAD  AKERS  ATTENDS  A  PROHIBI 
TION  MEETING  131 

An  astonishing  toilet — He  explains — How  he 
downed  Bill  Rollins  at  the  "fust  quarterly" 
— Why  he  did  not  go  to  Chattanooga — At 
Sikes's  store. 

XIII.  ANOTHER  WONDERFUL  LETTER 141 

"Omnybuss  Items" — Needed:  sanctified  fuss 
es — Bildad  lectures  the  preachers  who  will 
not  write  for  the  church  paper — Bill  Baggs 
and  his  "nervusness" — The  preacher  spends 
Saturday    night    with    Bildad — Bildad    dis 
cusses   three   "harisies" — Missing   one    Sun 
day — Old  Sister  Buckins  and  pastoral  visit 
ing. 

XIV.  AN  EVENING  WITH  BILDAD  AKERS..   151 
The    editor    visits    Bildad    Akers — Sitting 
under  the  wisteria  vine — Bildad  talks  sadly 

of  the  mind  and  heart  poverty  of  his  neigh- 


x  CONTENTS. 

CHAJTEB  PAOB 

bors — John  Winkler — Bill  Summers  argues 
against  education — Lessons  for  the  country 
preacher — The  needs  of  the  rural  sections — 
The  story  of  old  Jimmy  Flack  and  his  quar 
ter. 

XV.  BASEBALL  AND  THE  CHURCH  PAPER,  163 
Bildad  discovered  in  the  waiting-room  by  the 
editor — The  two  become  fellow-travelers — 
Ousting  a  railroad  hog — Bildad  again  com 
plains  of  the  conductor's  card-board  identi 
fication  slip — Bildad  justifies  his  enthusi 
asm  for  baseball — He  does  not  want  "Lizy" 
to  know — He  asks  about  the  Advocate — 
The  editor's  reply — Jeems  Sedley,  the  man 
who  would  not  pay  for  his  paper — Bildad 
ruminates  on  the  question — Bildad  tells  of 
the  ignorance  of  Bob  Toole — Bildad's  plan 
for  running  the  church  papers. 

XVI.  SOME  ADVICE  TO  FARMERS 175 

Bildad  tells  "Lizy"  why  he  should  write  for 
his  farm  paper — The  trouble  with  the  farm 
ers — Bildad  tells  what  kind  of  a  farmer  he 
is — Moving  to  town — The  case  of  Lige 
White. 

XVII.  HOW      BILDAD      AKERS      COLLECTED 

MOLT  HENRY'S  QUARTERAGE 183 

The  editor  finds  Bildad  Akers  in  town  visit 
ing  relatives — Why  Bildad  felt  "kinder 
holler — An  evening  walk — The  beauty  of 
an  autumn  night — "Stewarts"  tried  by  hard 
cases — Bildad  wants  to  know  how  the  Meth 
odist  church  ever  became  infested  with  skin 
flints  and  dead-beats — He  tells  the  story  of 
his  experience  with  Molt  Henry. 

XVIII.  THE  CREED  OF  BILDAD  AKERS 197 

The  spell  of  a  golden  afternoon — A  notice 
able  change  in  Bildad  Akers,  who  makes  the 
editor  a  visit — Bildad  tells  what  he  thinks 
of  a  real  religious  experience — He  tells  of 
his  conversion — He  gives  the  gist  of  hia 
doctrine — He  thinks  that  present-day  preach 
ing  is  lacking  in  one  important  thing — The 
vision  of  the  editor. 


PROLOGUE  AND  EPILOGUE. 

It  turned  out  just  as  I  expected.  When,  after 
having  sent  for  Bildad  Akers  to  come  to  see  me, 
I  told  him  that  I  was  seriously  thinking  of  col 
lecting  his  sayings  and  experiences  and  publish 
ing  them  in  book  form,  there  came  a  very  serious 
look  into  his  eyes,  and  there  was  a  tightening 
of  the  lines  about  his  large  expressive  mouth. 
He  looked  at  the  floor,  shook  slowly  his  grizzled 
head,  and  determinedly  said  "no." 

Then,  after  a  few  moments  of  silence,  he 
turned  toward  me  and  said  in  his  characteristic 
way:  "Ivry,  these  peeple  air  not  wantin'  sich  a 
book  as  comes  from  Bildad  Akers.  Thar  is  too 
many  scholars  an  potry  writers  who  kin  fling 
hifalutin'  lanerwidge  and  use  sky-scrapin'  idees  fer 
sich  as  me  to  git  any  kind  o'  hearin'." 

I  reasoned  with  him  and  told  him  that  people 
had  become  tired  of  so  much  deep  thought  and 
the  dress  it  wears,  and  that  an  occasional  pre 
sentation  of  simple  thought,  clothed  in  home 
spun,  pleases  them  more  than  the  dainty  fastidi 
ous  thought  of  scholars. 

"But,"  said  Bildad,  "you  wouldn't  think  of 
usin'  my  idees  and  langwidge  without  dressin' 
'em  up  some — puttin'  on  'em  their  Sundy  close, 
you  know,  an'  makin'  'em  fit  for  compny." 
.  "That  is  just  the  point,  Bildad,"  I  said;  "you 
hardly  ever  see  in  a  book  anything  which  is  not 
in  a  way  dressed  up  in  its  "Sunday  close,"  and 
which  does  not  look  a  little  artificial.  To  see 
thought  in  its  elemental  state  and  dressed,  so  to 


12  PROLOGUE  AND  EPILOGUE. 

speak,  in  nature's  garb  is  one  of  the  demands  of 
human  nature.  Suppose  I  were  to  dress  you  up 
in  a  swallow-tail  coat  and  kid  gloves  and  put  a 
silk  hat  on  your  head  and  turn  you  loose,  what 
kind  of  figure  would  you  make  in  a  parlor  ?" 

Bildad's  mouth  relaxed  into  a  smile  as  he  said : 
"I'd  look  like  a  bloomin'  eejit." 

"But,  as  you  are  now,  you  are  Mr.  Bildad 
Akers,  a  good  citizen,  a  man  of  good  common 
sense,  and  to  whom  even  educated  people  go  for 
advice.  Is  not  this  so?" 

"Of  course,"  said  Bildad,  with  a  complacent 
smile. 

"Then,  don't  you  see  that  if  I  were  to  dress 
up  your  thought  and  language  in  the  way  you 
suggested,  it  would  only  make  you  tame  and 
ridiculous,  while,  if  I  let  it  remain  just  as  it 
comes  from  you,  it  would  be  like  Mr.  Bildad 
Akers — original,  respectable,  and  interesting?" 

"I  see  the  pint,"  said  Bildad. 

But  his  fears  were  not  allayed.  His  face  took 
on  a  tenderer  look  as  he  gazed  at  me  and  said : 

"Ivry,  I  think  a  sight  of  you.  You  have  been 
good  to  me  and  have  helped  me  lots.  Do  you 
think  it  will  help  your  repytashun  any  as  a  lit- 
terary  man  to  be  tied  up  in  a  rale  book  with  sich 
a  feller  as  Bildad  Akers.  Seems  to  me  you 
should  put  your  name  on  a  book  which  is  more 
dignified." 

I  told  Bildad  that  my  object  in  life  is  not  to 
build  up  a  reputation  in  the  literary  world,  but 
to  help  humanity.  I  also  said  that  if  it  is  not 
dignified  to  introduce  to  the  people  such  a  man 


PROLOGUE  AND  EPILOGUE.  13 

as  Bildad  Akers  and  acquaint  them  with  his 
solution  of  problems  which  have  been  puzzling 
the  minds  of  the  high  and  great,  dignity,  for  my 
part,  might  take  the  wings  of  a  dove,  fly  away, 
and  be  at  rest. 

This  seemed  to  please  Bildad.  I  saw  that  the 
book  had  his  sanction. 

He  scratched  his  head,  however,  and  said, 
"What  you  goin'  to  name  it?" 

I  suggested  several  titles,  none  of  which 
seemed  to  please  him.  "Homespun  Philosophy" 
did  not  impress  him.  He  said  that  "Flosofy  is  too 
hifalutin'  a  name."  He  objected  to  "Charcoal 
Sketches"  on  the  ground  that  "it'd  make  peeple 
think  of  a  nigger  minstrul."  To  my  question, 
"What,  then?"  he  said,  "Jest  what  I  writ  in  my 
ole  blew-back  spellin'  book  nigh  onto  fifty  yeer 
ago— 'Bildad  Akers :  His  Book/  " 

This  is  the  name,  gentle  reader,  and  the  book 
is  open  for  your  inspection. 


BILDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 


"I'll  read  you  the  whole  from  beginning  to  end,  with 
the  prologue  and  epilogue,  and  allow  time  for  the  musit 
between  the  acts." — Sheridan,  THE  CRITIC. 


BILDAD  AKERS  GOES  TO  THE  "DEES- 
TRICT"  CONFERENCE. 


"But  I  am  sich  a  pore  stick  myself  I  feel  sorry  for 
every  one  who  is  like  me,  and  I  have  allers  made  it  a 
rool  not  to  say  nothin'  ferninst  a  man  ef  I  caint  say 
anything  speshal  fer  him." — Bildad  Akers. 


CHAPTER  I. 

MR.  EDDITOR. — The  wether  is  mighty  hot  jest 
now,  and  as  an  old  man  like  me  has  got  to  set  a 
good  deal  in  the  shade  these  days,  I  kinder 
thought  I  mout  as  well  write  you  about  the 
Deestrict  Confearance  which  I  was  a  dellygate 
to.  I  sent  you  a  pome  a  month  ago  comin'  next 
Satidy.  I  writ  it  one  night  arter  supper,  and  I 
have  been  lookin'  fer  it  in  every  Advocate  sence, 
but  nary  a  glimps  have  I  got  of  the  pome.  So 
I  will  send  you  a  letter  'bout  the  Deestrict  Con 
fearance. 

I  started  afore  sun  up  on  Wensdy  mornin'  so 
as  to  take  the  rale-rode  cars  at  the  sidin'  so  as 
to  get  to  the  place  in  good  time.    I  allers  like  to 
get  to  a  meetin'  ahead  o'  time.    When  Sally,  who 
is  my  darter,  who  has  jest  quit  collidge,  saw  me 
startin'  off  in  my  duster,  she  said,  "Why,  pappy, 
you  shorely  are  not  goin'  to  wear  that  old  duster  ? 
Why,  they  have  gone  out  of  fashun,  and  that  old 
umbrella,   don't  tie   it  up  that  away.     It  looks, 
like  you  mout  have  a  peck  of  apples  in  it."  "Sally, 
my  darter,"  says  I,  "you  have  had  the  iluminatin' 
educational  iluminashun  of  an  educashun  in  a 
good  educashunal  school,  but  you  don't  know  as  . 
many  things  yit  as  your  pappy  knows.    Common ,: 
jedgement  tells  me  that  when  a  man  travels  on,., 


2O  BILDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

the  steam  cars  a  duster  is  the  thing,  and  this  um- 
berell  kivered  your  grandpappy  to  many  a  meet- 
in,'  and  it  will  kiver  me,  ceptin'  it  falls  to  peaces, 
and  it  can  bag  out  like  a  baloon  or  curl  up  like 
a  litenin  rod  jest  as  it  likes."  They  say  I  am  sot 
in  my  ways — that  is,  Ben  says  so.  So  I  kissed 
Lizy  and  Sally  and  meandered.  My  son  is  teach- 
in'  of  a  summer  school  over  on  the  Bend,  or  he 
would  have  went  too. 

Mr.  Edditor,  did  you  ever  have  a  kind  of  lone- 
sum  feelin'  when  you  retched  a  strange  place? 
Well,  I  shore  had  a  lonesum  feelin'  when  I 
retched  my  stoppin'  place.  There  was  plenty 
of  dellygates  on  the  steam  cars.  I  didn't  know 
none  of  the  preechers  scusin'  the  Elder,  and  he 
didn't  know  me.  Jonas  Bates,  my  nabor  on  Sandy 
Ridge,  was  on  the  cars,  but  he  had  tried  to  play 
big  on  the  cars  and  smoke  a  seegar,  and  it  made 
him  so  sick  he  didn't  have  nary  word  to  speak 
to  nobody.  I  was  shore  lonesum. 

When  I  got  off  at  the  depow  the  preecher,  I 
reckin  it  was,  was  thar  callin'  names  often  a 
paper.  I  stood  with  my  satchell  in  my  hand  tell 
they  all  got  off  scusin'  one  man  who  told  the  de 
pow  keeper  that  he  was  lookin'  for  Mr.  Akers 
who  was  to  go  to  the  Jedge's.  I  spoke  up  and 
said  to  him,  "I  persume  I  am  the  indervidual 


THE     DEESTRICT     CONFERENCE.  21 

you  are  hankerin'  arter."  He  shuck  my  hand, 
and  looked  at  my  duster  and  umberell,  and  pam 
leaf  fan,  and  said,  "I  am  glad  to  meet  you,  Broth 
er  Akers;  you  are  to  stop  with  Brother  Jim 
Snooks  jest  three  miles  out.  He  is  up  at  the 
store  now,  and  ef  you  hurry  you  may  be  able  to 
ride  out  thar."  My  dander  kinder  riz,  and  I  said, 
"Have  you  got  my  name  on  that  paper?"  "Yes," 
he  said.  "Well,  what  does  it  say  about  Bildad 
Aker's  stoppin'  place  ?  Did  they  put  an  old  man 
like  me  out  three  miles  in  the  kentry?"  He  was 
kinder  confused,  at  least  his  face  was  red,  and  he 
said :  "Brother  Akers,  you  are  to  go  up  to  Jedge 
Simpson's.  I  was  mistaken."  And  this  is  the 
way  Bildad  Akers  didn't  walk  three  miles  to 
Snookses.  The  man  pintedly  thought  I  was  a 
bloomin'  haseeder. 

I  found  a  fine  home  at  the  Jedges.  He  give 
me  the  best  room  in  the  house,  right  next  to  the 
Elder's,  and  I  hearn  him  say  to  some  one  that 
he  found  Mr.  Akers  an  interestin'  pussonage. 
How  I  wish  Charles  and  Ben  could  have  saw 
me  thar.  I  have  allers  spied  out  that  men  who 
have  the  rale  stile  outardly  and  innerdly  knows 
best  how  to  enjy  rale  wuth  in  homespun.  I  didn't 
dissgrace  the  Jedge  and  his  family,  onless  it  was 
when  I  was  tryin'  to  cut  some  green  lookin' 


22  BILDAD  AKERS  !   HIS  BOOK. 

plums  with  a  knife.  I  believe  they  called  'em 
ollives  and  they  wasn't  ripe.  They  had  a  kinder 
furrin  taste.  But  there  was  no  laffin'  by  the  Jedge 
and  his  famly.  They  zibited  their  raisin'  thar. 

Well,  I  shorely  enjyed  the  confearance ;  I  staid 
the  last  minnit.  This  thing  of  preechers  and 
dellygates  breakin'  away  afore  the  close  of  the 
meetin'  like  a  passel  of  colts  out  of  a  pasture 
should  stop.  What  does  the  Quarterly  send  del 
lygates  for  cept  it  is  to  stay  and  do  somethin'? 
They  'lected  dellygates  to  the  confearance  at 
Golesboro  and  thar  was  only  ten  of  us  to  do  any 
votin'.  I  hope  that  Ben  and  Charles  will  dis- 
kiver  that  I  liked  only  one  vote  of  bein'  lected. 
They  allers  said  I  could  not  be  lected  to  nothin'. 
But  that  is  bekase  Charles  had  that  unfortunate 
miss  fortune  in  polly  ticks  some  time  ago. 

I  liked  the  Elder's  way  of  callin'  out  the  delly 
gates  to  give  their  views  on  sartin  subjects.  The 
Babtisses  beat  us  in  havin'  a  hooraw  time  at  their 
Soshiashuns  bekase  every  mother's  son  of  em 
senses  that  the  meetin'  belongs  to  them.  Some 
how  or  tother  in  the  Deestrict  Confearences  I 
have  been  to,  the  idee  seemed  to  be  that  the  meet- 
in'  belonged  to  the  Elder,  and  that  ef  every  one 
didn't  walk  close  to  the  line,  there  would  be  some- 
thin'  to  pay.  I've  seed  dellygates  lyin'  low  in 


THE  "DEESTRICT    CONFERENCE.  23 

the  meetin'  and  they  made  me  think  of  rabbitts 
squattin'  in  a  clump  of  broom  sedge.  The  idee  is 
for  every  dellygate  to  feel  that  the  meetin'  is 
theirs,  and  that  he  has  the  right  to  call  out  on 
every  subject  and  idee  that  spikes  him.  Why, 
I  made  a  speech  on  quarterage  raisin'  that  they 
are  talkin'  about  yit.  I  allers  did  have  a  streek 
of  pure  home  made  orrtory  in  me. 

Endurin'  of  the  meetin'  I  hearn  my  preecher 
preech.  He  didn't  seem  as  peart  as  he  does  gin- 
erally,  but  then  I've  hearn  that  a  preacher  caint 
do  his  levelest  at  a  Deestrict  Confearance  ceptin' 
he  has  an  uncommon  amount  of  sanctyfyed  gall. 
They  say  that  preechin'  to  preechers  is  like  run- 
nin'  ferninst  snags  in  new  ground. 

This  minds  me  that  afore  goin'  to  preachin', 
one  night  endurin'  of  the  confearance,  I  hearn 
one  preecher  ask  another  preecher  at  the  drug 
store  how  he  liked  the  sarmont  that  day.  The, 
preecher  jest  tore  that  sarmont  to  peaces.  That 
very  sarmont  had  somehow  mellered  me  and 
made  me  feel  some  how  like  climbin'  a  few  rods 
higher  on  the  mounting  of  grace,  but  when  I 
hearn  the  preecher  tearin'  that  sarmont  to  peaces, 
I  stumbled  and  sprawled  back  bout  ten  feet  down 
the  mounting. 

I  was  settin'  out  on  Jedge's  porch  one  night 


24  BILDAD  AKERS :  HIS  BOOK. 

arter  meetin'  and  a  passel  of  preechers  was  talk- 
in',  and  they  talked  a  heap  about  other  preechers, 
and  do  you  know,  I  went  to  bed  with  a  bad  taste 
in  my  mouth.  I  think  that  it  was  the  lint  left 
by  a  cupple  of  preechers  frailin'  the  lives  and 
karackters  of  other  preechers.  I  haint  got  much 
to  brag  about.  I  have  been  to  school  consider 
able  in  the  summer  and  know  somethin'  bout 
spellin'  and  speakin'.  I  have  got  a  good  farm 
and  a  lovin'  famly.  I  got  an  average  amount  of 
grace  at  Gunn's  Chapel  in  '54.  But  I  am  sich  a 
pore  stick  myself  I  feel  sorry  for  every  one  who 
is  like  me,  and  I  have  allers  made  it  a  rool  not  to 
say  nothin'  ferninst  a  man,  ef  I  can't  say  nothin' 
speshal  fer  him.  I  wonder  if  preechers  talk  about 
tother  preechers  this  way  at  all  their  meetin's? 
I  hope  not.  My  old  pappy  used  to  say  that  a 
kind  word  is  the  cheapest  thing  in  the  world  to 
be  as  valuable  as  it  is. 

Now  Ben  and  Charles,  who  are  kind  of  ex- 
sorters  and  sometimes  takes  texts  (which  is  fer 
ninst  the  Dissciplin),  will  think  that  all  this  talk 
about  preechers  is  about  them.  But  let  them 
think.  It  will  do  them  good  to  use  their  minds 
a  leetle.  But  they  are  both  mighty  good  men. 

The  sorryest  thing  I  done  at  the  confearance 
was  to  go  to  sleep  on  the  last  night  while  the 


THE  "DEESTRICT"  CONFERENCE.  25 

preacher  was  prayin'  the  openin'  pra'r.  I  have  re 
pented  of  this  in  flax  cloth  and  ashes.  I  got  up 
arly  every  mornin'  and  walked  round  several 
hours  afore  brekfust.  By  the  time  preachin'  was 
over  at  night  I  felt  like  gwine  to  bed.  But  gwine 
to  bed  was  no  use  when  the  others  wanted  to  talk, 
and  laff,  and  drink  water,  and  smoke  seegars 
tell  nigh  midnight.  By  Satidy  night,  I  was  about 
twelve  hours  behind  in  sleep.  The  preecher 
prayed  fifteen  minnits.  I  was  on  my  knees  as 
every  other  Methdist  ort  to  be  endurin'  pra'rs  and 
afore  the  preecher  had  finished  that  part  whar 
he  was  tellin'  the  Lord  things  the  Lord  knowed 
long  before  the  preecher  was  born,  I  was  fast 
asleep,  and  when  I  woke  that  long  winded  preech 
er  was  givin'  out  his  second  hime  and  I  was  on 
my  knees,  and  some  people  around  me  was  laffin' 
at  me.  How  mean  I  ,felt !  I  wouldn't  have  had 
Lizy  to  see  me  fer  nothin'  in  the  world.  But  I 
felt  pearter  fer  my  nap.  But  why  shoot  off  sich 
long  pra'rs  in  public? 

This  minds  me  of  somethin'  that  happened  on 
Satidy  mornin'.  A  preecher  was  talkin'  bout  his 
open  air  preachin'  on  his  sirkut.  He  said  he 
wanted  somebody  to  splain  the  coincidental  way 
it  was  that  when  he  would  go  to  the  place  whar 
he  was  to  preech  in  the  open  ar  the  win  would 


26  BILDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

be  shore  to  be  blowin'.  Nobody  ansered  him. 
The  anser  popped  into  my  head  at  once,  and  afore 
I  knowed  it  I  riz  up  in  meetin'  and  said,  "I  kin 
tell  you  the  reason,  Brother;  one  gust  of  wind 
ginerally  brings  on  another." 

But  I  must  shove  my  pen  aside.  Its  time  to 
turn  in  the  cows  from  the  pastur.  I  shorely  en- 
jyed  myself  at  the  Jedges.  When  I  left,  I  told 
him  so.  He  said,  "Don't  menshun  it."  I  said  to 
myself  "I  won't,"  but  here  I  am  tellin'  all  about 
it  in  the  Advocate.  But  what  is  wrote  is  wrote. 
•  Mr.  Edditor,  what  about  the  Temprunce  Con- 
venshun  in  Roily? 

But  I  drap  my  pen  to  bid  you  a  fond  adew, 
hopin'  this  will  find  you  enjyin'  of  the  same  bles- 
sin'. 

Yours  as  ever,  from  Ebenezer, 

BILDAD  AKERS. 

S.  P. — Mr.  Edditor,  I  notice  thar  is  a  figgur 
3  right  afore  the  letter  A  in  Akers  on  my  labul. 
Please  drap  it  or  drap  my  paper.  Thar  aint  no 
sense  in  havin'  it  thar.  I  told  my  preecher  about 
it  last  preachin'  day,  but  that  3  is  still  thar.  Drap 
it. 


AFTER  THE  FAIR. 


"I'm  a  mighty  flimsy  sort  of  a  saint,  but  I  fight  Bhy 
of  the  church  member  whose  relijun  depens  on  whar  he 
is  at." — Bildad  Akers. 


CHAPTER  II. 

OCTOBER  20  IN  THE  YEAR  OF  OUR  LORD. 
To  Mr.  Ivry,  Roily,  N.  C. 

MR.  EDDITOR: — I  went  to  the  Fair  at  Roily 
last  week.  I  enjyed  everything  I  seed,  tho  I 
didn't  take  in  everything  of  course.  I  hearn  that 
thar  was  some  strange  things  thar.  I  got  home 
on  a  Friday.  I  lowed  to  do  a  sight  of  work  round 
the  house  and  barn  on  Satidy,  but  when  I  got  up 
on  Satidy  mornin'  and  saw  how  the  elements 
was  leakin'  with  now  and  then  a  spit  of  snow,  I 
knowed  it  was  all  up  with  me  about  doin'  any 
work.  Arter  brekfust  I  read  my  Bible  awhile. 
Mr.  Edditor,  do  you  sell  a  good  clear  print  Bible 
What  he  writes  makes  intrustin'  readin'.  Arter 
readin'  my  Bible  awhile,  I  read  the  Advocate.  It 
had  a  good  many  things  in  it,  but  it  seems  to  me 
that  Dr.  Jenkins  lays  you  all  out  as  a  writer. 
What  he  writes  makes  intrustin  readin'.  Arter 
leavin'  some  things  to  read  on  Sunday,  I  read 
the  jokes  in  the  almanack.  Jest  then  Lizy  come 
in,  and  arter  goin'  for  me  for  layin'  papers  on 
the  floor,  she  said.  "Bildad,  you  seem  to  be  out 
of  somethin'  to  do.  Thars  some  stovewood  out 
in  the  wet.  If  that  doesn't  suit  you,  why  dont 
you  write  another  letter  to  the  Advocate.  Ef  you 


30  BILDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

do,  be  shore  to  tell  Ben  about  that  meanness  he 
got  off  about  you  in  his  last  letter  to  the  Advo 
cate."  This  was  enough.  The  writin'  fire  begun 
to  burn  in  my  bones.  So  here  I  am  writin'  agin 
to  my  paper. 

I  don't  know  what  put  it  into  Ben's  head  to 
write  such  a  letter  as  he  last  writ.  Not  that  I 
have  anything  ferninst  Ben's  writin'.  Writin' 
runs  in  the  famly,  you  know.  But  Ben  made  out 
that  the  reason  I  didn't  go  out  in  the  kentry  when 
I  went  to  the  Deestrict  was  bekase  I  would  ruther 
stay  in  town  with  the  big  folks.  Why,  ef  I  had 
my  ruthers  I  would  ruther  have  a  home  even 
at  a  Deestrict  in  the  kentry.  But  it  ruther  riled 
me  when  I  found  out  that  bekase  I  looked  like 
a  haseeder  instid  of  one  of  them  slick  fellers  I 
was  to  be  moved  out  three  miles  in  the  kentry. 
Ben  writes  any  way  like  distance  cuts  no  ice  with 
him.  Why  I've  saw  Ben  rest  betwixt  the  eends 
of  a  corn  row  in  a  acre  field. 

But  I  must  tell  you  about  our  big  meetin'  at 
Ebenezer.  It  broke  three  weeks  ago  a  comin' 
next  Wensday.  It  helt  only  ten  days  but  it  was 
a  great  meetin'. 

The  preecher  druv  about  sun  down  on  Satidy 
evenin'.  Who  was  with  him  but  Sam  Moon  ?  Sam 
does  beat  all  creashun  for  ridin'  with  the  preecher. 


AFTER  THE  FAIR.  3! 

The  preecher  says  he  dont  care  as  long  as  it 
gives  him  a  chance  to  excuse  himself  from  haulm" 
wimmen.  I  dont  like  to  see  a  preacher  haulm" 
wimmen  round  when  they  dont  belong  to  him. 
Our  preacher  is  square  on  this  pint. 

Lizy  always  gits  up  a  good  meal  for  the 
preecher.  When  he  don't  eat  much  she  don't  com 
plain  any.  The  first  time  she  fed  a  preecher,  he 
didn't  eat  much.  He  had  dispepsy.  Lizy  was 
worried  to  death  about  it.  I  said  to  her,  "Lizy, 
one  thing  you  must  larn.  Thar's  no  place  a 
preecher  likes  better  than  whar  he  feels  that  he 
can  eat  leetle  or  much  jest  as  he  pleases  and  not 
hurt  the  feelin's  of  the  cook.  I  knowed  a  preech 
er  to  drink  four  tumblers  of  buttermilk  jest  be- 
kase  he  knowed  that  if  he  drunk  less  thar  would 
be  a  kind  of  row  at  the  table."  He  come  jest  a 
leetle  of  dyin'  with  the  colic.  Arter  that  Lizy 
made  every  preecher  who  come  to  our  house  feel 
that  the  eatin's  was  hers  and  the  eatin'  was  his. 

Arter  supper  Sam  took  out  of  his  hip  pocket  a. 
package  of  sheroots  and  offered  one  to  the  preech 
er.  I  am  so  glad  that  he  didn't  take  it.  I  dont 
like  to  see  preechers  a-smokin'.  Mr.  Edditor,  you 
or  some  other  writer  spoke  about  preechers  gath- 
erin'  in  front  of  a  Church  at  confearance  and. 
smokin'  their  seegars.  Aint  you  mistaken  about 


32  BILDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

that?  Have  we  got  preachers  who  does  that? 
But  Sam  smoked  his'n  and  squirted  his  ambere 
on  Lizy's  hath  which  she  had  jest  washed,  and 
he  talked  like  he  was  one  of  the  biggest  pillers 
in  the  Church.  Sam  is  a  mighty  big  Methdist  at 
meetin's  but  he  dont  mind  goin'  into  a  barroom 
when  he  goes  off  to  sell  his  terbaccer.  I'm  a 
mighty  flimsy  sort  of  a  saint,  but  I  fight  shy  of 
the  church  member  whose  relijun  depens  on  whar 
he  is  at. 

Sam  said  he  was  a  hopin'  the  preecher  would 
rub  fire  and  brimstone  in  his  sarmont  the  next 
day.  Why?  says  the  preacher.  At  this  Sam 
scratched  his  head,  throwed  himself  back  in  his 
chair,  squirted  ambere  on  a  nott  which  had  jest 
struck  fire,  and  said,  "Bekase  the  fellers  need  it." 
The  preecher  said,  "Brother  Moon,  I  think  you 
have  got  the  wrong  idee  about  holdin'  meetin'. 
Thars  always  plenty  of  members  who  need  re- 
vivin'.  I  always  begin  my  meetins'  by  preachin' 
to  the  church  members.  In  the  fust  place,  they 
need  it  as  much  as  the  outsiders.  In  the  second 
place  you  cant  git  outsiders  to  take  much  intrust 
ontell  they  see  some  intrust  the  insiders  take  in 
themselves.  An  alter  full  of  church  members 
means  several  alters  full  of  outsiders." 

Sam  went  out  bout  this  time  to  see  bout  the 


AFTER  THE  FAIR.  33 

wether,  he  said,  and  I  saw  a  kind  of  wink  in  the 
preecher's  eye.  Sam  kept  quiet  like  but  made 
up  fer  it  by  naterally  spilin'  the  next  mornin'  a 
lamb  quarter  Lizy  had  lowed  to  use  fer  dinner. 

But  we  had  a  good  meetin'.  Thar  was  twenty- 
five  jiners  in  all  and  they  all  had  been  to  the 
alter  too. 

I  must  tell  you  how  our  preecher  tuk  'em  in. 
He  read  over  the  rules  of  the  church  and  splained 
them  and  said,  Now,  ef  any  of  you  think  you 
caint  keep  these  rules,  you  had  better  not  jine. 
He  then  read  the  promusses  and  splained  em  so 
that  the  leettlest  child  could  sense  it.  When  they 
had  all  jined  the  preacher  made  a  sollum  talk  to 
the  church  bout  holpin'  the  new  members  on  the 
road  to  Heaven.  Thar's  only  one  mistake  the 
preecher  made,  and  that  I  have  jest  thought  of 
when  I  read  what  you  said  in  this  week's  Ad 
vocate.  It  was  in  not  axin'  each  member  if  he 
had  a  Bible  and  dissiplin  and  if  he  tuck  the  Church 
paper.  I  am  like  you.  I  dont  see  how  any  mem 
ber  can  get  along  without  'em. 

Our  quarterly  was  helt  last  Sundy.  The  Elder 
seemed  well  pleased.  The  showin'  the  Stewarts 
made  were  allright  and  I  think  the  Elder  and  the 
preecher  will  go  up  to  confearance  with  a  clean 
sheet.  Our  preecher  has  been  with  us  only  one 
3 


34  BIUDAD  AKER6  I  HIS  BOOK. 

yeer  and  we  want  him  back.  I  expect  to  go  up 
to  the  Annual.  I  am  goin'  to  take  notes,  and  you 
may  hear  from  me  agin. 

But  I  must  pintedly  choke  off  this  pen.    Pleas 
read  this  letter  with  care. 
Yours  so  true, 

With  a  kind  adoo, 

BILDAD  AKERS. 

P.  S. — If  you  dont  mean  to  print  that  potry, 
please  send  back  the  manuscrip. 


BILBAO'S  FIRST  VISIT  TO  THE  "OLE 
ROLLY." 


"Its  a  bad  day  when  a  young  preecher  tries  to  tawk 
like  his  Elder.  He  looses  his  inderviduality  and  stunts 
himself." — Bildad  Akers. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A  rap  at  the  door,  a  few  noisy  footfalls,  and 
then  was  heard  the  sound  of  the  clerk's  voice  as 
she  asked  if  she  "could  carry  a  message  to  the 
editor." 

"No  message  for  me,  gal;  I'll  see  the  edditor 
myself.  Whar's  Ivry?"  were  the  brusque,  de 
termined  words  of  the  intruder. 

Going  into  the  outer  office  I  stood  face  to  face 
with  Bildad  Akers,  the  accepted  friend  of  the 
thirty-five  thousand  readers  of  the  Advocate.  I 
had  met  him  once  or  twice  before  and  there  was 
no  difficulty  on  my  part  in  recognizing  him. 

There  was  a  semi-sinister  look  on  his  rugged 
face  as  he  glanced  slowly  at  the  ceiling  and  then 
at  every  article  of  furniture  in  the  office.  But 
the  ice  in  him  thawed  as  he  placed  his  number 
nine  foot  on  the  round  of  the  chair  in  front  of 
him  and  said  in  a  neighborly  way :  "Well,  Broth 
er  Ivry,  I'm  here  at  last.  I  have  been  mindin'  to 
drop  in  fer  a  long  time — ever  sence  I  shuck  your 
paw  at  the  meetinY' 

"Yes,  Brother  Akers,  glad  to  see  you,"  I  said. 
"What  is  the  news  down  about  Ebenezer?" 

But  before  the  question  could  be  answered  I 
asked  another,  which  had  been  on  my  mind  for 


38  BIUDAD  AKERS :  HIS  BOOK. 

some  time:  "Why  in  the  world  did  you  stop 
writing  for  the  Advocate?  You  used  to  give  us 
some  good  letters,  and  your  friends  have  been 
wondering  at  your  not  writing  any  more. 

In  answer  to  these  words,  Bildad  spat  in  the 
waste  basket,  squared  his  great  shoulders,  pursed 
his  lips  oracularly,  and,  sitting  more  erect,  said 
in  a  kind  of  meditative  way: 

"I  kinder  knowed,  Brother  Ivry,  that  you  never 
knowed  about  my  bein'  in  the  bresh  endurin'  of 
the  last  year  or  so.  It  was  in  the  county  paper, 
but  they  put  it  twixt  Jim  Scalds  advertisements 
bout  mules  that  he  got  sot  in  the  colyums  the 
edittor  writes,  and  ef  I  hadn't  been  lookin'  fer 
it  I  wouldn't  a  seed  it  myself.  Yes,  I've  bin  in 
the  bresh;  rheumatiz  for  over  twelve  months; 
Lizy  fightin'  the  yaller  janders ;  the  childern  gone, 
and  nobody  to  write;  that  tells  the  tale.  I  want 
able,  but  I  thought  I'd  run  up  to  Roily  a  day  or 
so  any  way,  rheumatiz  or  no  rheumatiz."  Here 
Bildad  looked  at  me  with  reproachful  eyes. 

He  then  proceeded  to  tell  me  that  he  hadn't 
come  to  look  in  on  the  Legislature.  It  was  evi 
dent  that  he  had  given  the  marble  heart  to  the 
Legislature.  It  was  not  because  he  had  been  or 
dered  down  from  the  "loft"  two  years  ago,  but 
because  he  had  been  rash  enough  to  run  for  the 


THE  FIRST  VISIT.  39 

nomination  last  fall  and  get  beaten.  I  saw  that 
this  sad  culmination  of  his  political  hopes  had 
soured  him  against  anything  that  would  remind 
him  of  his  mishap.  By  the  way,  that  was  his 
first  and  his  last  experience  in  politics. 

"No,"  said  Bildad,  "I  didn't  go  to  no  Legis- 
latur  last  night.  I  went  to  pr'ar  meetin'.  I  reck- 
in  that  was  what  it  was.  I  hearn  somebody  at 
the  door  call  it  "pr'ar  sarvice."  But  I  like  the 
ole  name  'pr'ar  meetin'.  Methdists  is  gittin'  too 
many  hifalutin'  names  to  suit  an  ole  field  hand 
like  me." 

Bildad  paused  here,  as  if  unwilling  to  say  any 
thing  more  about  the  prayer  meeting.  But  I 
wished  to  know  what  impression  it  had  made,  so 
I  said:  "Well,  what  did  you  think  of  it?" 

"I  liked  the  preecher,"  said  Bildad.  "He  had 
somethin'  good  to  say,  an  he  said  it  like  he  meant 
it.  I  liked  the  music,  tho  I  caint  say  pianner 
music  sets  well  on  my  stummick,  tho  I  sorter 
hanker  in  the  fall  arter  a  steam  pianny.  Maybfe 
its  bekase  I'm  so  useter  Ike  Tinshaw's  tunin'-fork. 
I  liked  the  crowd — what  there  was  of  it.  It  mind 
ed  me  of  the  scholars  that  was  left  in  Sam  Perk- 
in's  school  the  day  most  of  'em  run  off  and  played 
April  fool.  I  couldn't  holp  thinkin'  while  the 
preecher  was  talkin'  why  peeple  in  the  big  towns 


4O  BILDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

dont  go  to  pr'ar  meetin'  like  they  do  in  leetle 
towns  and  in  the  kentry." 

"But  do  you  know,"  he  continued,  "that  my 
sperrits  riz  toward  the  hind  eend  of  the  meetin' 
when  I  seed  nice  lookin'  people  a'comin'  in.  I  did 
think  that  they  mout  a  looked  a  little  shamed  fer 
comin'  in  so  late,  but  then  I  thought  that  it  was 
a  purty  sight  to  see  them  city  Methdists  comin' 
in  late  rather  than  miss  the  meetin'?  Eudurin' 
the  last  few  minutes,  they  jest  piled  in,  and  I'm 
blest,  Brother  Ivry,  ef  the  house  wasn't  as  full  as 
a  tick  in  August  when  the  preecher  prayed  the 
bennydickshun.  Bless  my  life !  I  thought,  what 
furrin  fan-dangled  way  is  this,  anyway,  of  people 
pilin'  in  jest  to  hear  the  bennydickshun?  But 
then  I  said  to  myself,  'They've  at  least  come  out 
on  the  Lord's  side  ,and  they  seem  so  peart  and 
slick  diked  out  in  their  Sundy  close.  They  all 
peared  happy  to  hear  the  last  pianner  note  and 
the  bennydickshun.  The  thought  made  me  feel 
good,  and  I  reckin  I  was  too  hefty  with  my  voice 
when  they  sung  the  doxerology,  for  a  sollum, 
peaked  lookin'  man  I  tuck  to  be  a  Stewart  looked 
cross-eyed  at  me." 

Here  Bildad  called  for  a  drink  of  water,  and, 
clearing  his  throat,  he  continued  in  a  dejected 
tone,  after  having  looked  around  to  see  if  any  one 


THE  FIRST  VISIT.  41 

else  was  listening.  "  'Twixt  you  and  me,  Brother 
Ivry,  I  sloped  back  to  my  boardin'  house  with  the 
wust  taste  in  my  mouth,  and  its  thar  yit.  Them 
peeple  hadn't  come  out  to  pr'ar  meetin'  at  tall. 
They  had  come  out  to  a  consert  that  had  been 
orated  to  begin  right  arter  the  bennydickshun. 
Then  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  reason  them  late 
comin'  Methdists  looked  so  peart  was  bekase  they 
had  timed  the  thing  so  well  that  they  succeeded  in 
missin'  nearly  the  whole  meetin'  without  losin' 
the  fust  pianner  note  of  the  consert.  Thinks  I  to 
myself  as  I  left  the  church  without  stayin'  for  the 
consert,  is  this  the  way  city  Methdists  does  ?  Why, 
sich  a  thing  as  that  would  bust  ole  Ebenezer 
wide  open.  Why  don't  they  bollish  pr'ar  meet- 
ins'  in  towns,  Brother  Ivry?  They  need  a  church 
Ward  Bill.  It  seems  to  me  the  Stewarts  is  wastin' 
a  heap  of  lights  and  sich  on  pore  leetle  dyin' 
crowds." 

I  told  Bildad  it  would  never  do  for  the  church 
to  give  up  the  prayer-meeting,  that  it  is  the  pulse 
of  the  church,  and  that  those  who  regularly  go 
to  prayer  meeting  help  to  keep  alive  the  fire  in 
the  spiritual  furnace. 

"Then,"  said  Bildad,  "ef  the  pr'ar  meetin'  is 
the  pulse  of  church,  doctors  is  needed  mighty  bad 
in  a  sight  of  towns  and  cities,  and  ef  them  who 


42  BILDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

go  regular  are  to  keep  the  fire  burnin'  in  the 
f  urnis,  they  ought  to  be  turned  off  for  havin  noth- 
in'  to  do,  for  thar's  mighty  leetle  fire  to  keep  in 
some  places  and  in  a  heap  of  places  the  bilers  has 
busted.  Yes,  Brother  Ivry,  I  raly  think  that  pr'ar 
meetins'  in  some  towns  orter  be  bollished." 

"What's  the  use,"  he  continued,  "to  burn  all 
them  lights,  and  heat  up  them  furnises,  and  pay  a 
sextant  to  light  and  warm  up  empty  rooms? 
Don't  you  know  that  no  school  in  the  land  could 
run  when  nearly  all  the  scholars  are  off  fishin'? 
Don't  you  know  no  factory  could  run  when  nearly 
all  the  workers  are  settin'  in  their  homes?  Don't 
you  know  no  business  in  the  world  could  run  on 
them  princerples?  Then,  how  kin  you  expect  a 
church  to  run  when  nearly  all  the  members  don't 
think  enough  of  a  meetin'  like  the  pr'ar  meetin' 
to  go  to  it?  The  members  can  go  to  everything 
else.  Then,  to  think  them  Methdists  looked  so 
proud  when  they  scrouged  in  at  the  hind  eend  of 
a  pra'r  meetin'  to  git  in  at  the  front  eend  of  a 
consert.  What's  the  world  comin'  to,  Brother 
Ivry?" 

I  took  Bildad  in  hand  and  weakly  tried  to  rea 
son  him  out  of  his  pessimism  and  revolution 
ary  views,  but  to  no  avail.  He  paid  his  sub 
scription,  called  for  his  garden  seed,  told  me  good- 


THE  FIRST  VISIT.  43 

bye,  and  left  to  attend  to  some  errands.  But  the 
look  on  his  face  told  me  that  he  still  strongly 
believed  that  "in  most  big  towns"  they  ought  to 
abolish  the  prayer  meeting  as  something  that  costs 
more  than  it  comes  to. 


AN  INTERVIEW  WITH  BILDAD  AKERS 
ON  A  TRAIN. 


"Ef  the  pra'r  meetin'  is  the  pulse  of  the  church,  doc 
tors  is  needed  mighty  bad  in  a  sight  of  touns  an'  cities." 
— Bildad  Akers. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

The  train  from  Raleigh  had  gotten  well  under 
way,  and,  comfortably  seated,  I  was  reading  the 
morning  paper,  when  I  heard  a  familiar  voice 
several  seats  behind  me.  It  was  a  deep,  rolling, 
positive  voice,  which  betokened  the  strong  per 
sonality  of  its  owner.  I  turned  and  saw  our  old 
friend  Bildad  Akers  earnestly  remonstrating  with 
the  patient  non-plussed  conductor.  The  former 
held  in  his  hand  a  piece  of  red  card  board.  I 
took  in  the  situation  at  once.  Bildad  had  resented 
the  placing  of  the  lurid  slip  in  his  hat  band,  and 
the  conductor  was  trying  to  explain  the  use  of 
the  slip.  But  Bildad  proved  unteachable,  and 
the  conductor  went  down  the  aisle  with  these 
bass  words  following  him:  "Now,  skeet  on 
friend.  Ax  me  no  questions  and  I  wont  tell  you 
no  lies."  The  exact  pertinence  of  the  words  I 
could  not  determine. 

Of  course,  I  hurried  back  to  our  old  friend.  The 
imperturbability  of  this  personage  denied  a  charge 
of  previous  excitement.  I  grasped  his  hand  and 
expressed  my  pleasure  in  meeting  him,  and  that  so 
unexpectedly. 

"I've  jest  left  my  married  darter's  home  in 
town,"  said  Bildad.  "I  went  last  Wensdy.  Lizy 


48  BILDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

lowed  that  I  was  needin'  another  change.  I  am 
most  too  old  to  work  in  the  field  much,  and  when 
I  looked  at  cotton  roots  twistin'  and  more  grass 
growin'  at  night  than  could  be  killed  in  a  day,  I 
got  so  blue  that  it  seemed  I  had  a  misry  all  over, 
and  Lizy  and  the  hands  said:  'Jest  git  right  off. 
We'll  take  care  of  things.'  Well,  I've  seed  the 
day  when  the  whole  pack  couldn't  a  druv  me 
off,  but  I'm  not  so  peart  as  I  was  in  my  heftier 
days,  and  I  thought  maybe  a  few  days  at  Sallie's, 
her  that  married  Jeems  Stillman,  you  know, 
might  drive  the  misry  from  my  mind  and  the 
rheumatiz  from  my  jints.  So  I  went  over  to  Roi 
ly.  I  didn't  like  to  stay  in  town  much,  but  I 
enjyed  myself  and  feel  pearter  than  I  have  sence 
Chrismas." 

I  ventured  to  ask  Bildad  if  he  had  found  any 
trouble  with  the  prayer  meeting  in  town.  He 
evidently  remembered  the  experience  he  had  with 
the  prayer  meeting  some  time  ago,  for  a  look  of 
mingled  amusement  and  vexation  passed  over  his 
countenance.  He  hunched  himself  down  in  his 
seat  and  planted  his  knees  against  the  seat  in 
front,  tilting  the  top  forward  in  a  way  to  dis 
turb  the  occupant.  He  raised  the  car  window  so 
that  generous  draughts  of  dust  poured  through. 
He  looked  rather  shamefacedly  and  questioningly 


ON  THE  TRAIN.  49 

at  the  piece  of  red  card  board  which  he  had  been 
holding  in  his  hand,  and  then  let  it  flutter  away 
with  the  wind.  He  expectorated  violently 
through  the  window  and  began  as  follows : 

"Well,  Brother  Ivry,  I  will  tell  you.  I  don't 
know  as  I  orter,  for  you'll  go  and  print  it.  I 
don't  mind  that  so  much,  but  you  make  me  use 
bad  grammar.  I  stood  head  in  my  class  in  gram 
mar  and  parsed  down  a  whole  drove  wunce  at 
Banks  School  house.  But  I'll  tell  you.  I  didn't 
go  to  pra'r  meetin'  this  time.  But  I  went  to 
church  a  Sunday.  I  know  our  pastur  in  town. 
Have  knowed  him  sence  he  was  a  boy.  He  got 
his  licens  at  our  quarterly.  He  has  done  well. 
I  broke  him  at  once  from  a  bad  habit  he  tuck  up — 
that  of  try  in'  to  tawk  with  his  voice  like  the  Eld 
er.  Its  a  bad  day  when  a  young  preecher  tries  to 
tawk  like  his  Elder.  He  looses  his  inderviduality 
and  stunts  himself.  My  preecher  has  always 
seemed  to  think  a  sight  of  me,  and  when  I  met 
him  tother  day,  I  seed  that  a  city  apintment  hasn't 
spiled  him.  He  tuk  me  in  a  store  and  giv  me  a 
drink  of  fizz — he  called  it  a  fosfit  lemon,  or  some- 
thin'  of  the  kind,  and  then  interduced  me  to  Cap 
tain  White,  his  head  Stewart.  No,  Jeems  is  all- 
right  or  he  wouldn't  have  made  so  all  fired  much 
of  an  old  lighterd  knot  like  me." 
4 


50  BIIvDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

"How  did  you  like  the  sermon?"  I  here  in 
terjected. 

"They  didn't  want  me  to  go  to  the  church," 
was  the  reply.  "You  see  I  got  up  arly  Sundy 
mornin'  and  walked  over  town,  it  seemed  to  me. 
I  looked  at  a  sight  of  fine  hogs  in  the  outskerts 
of  town,  and  after  brekfust,  Sallie — that's  my  dar 
ter — said,  'Father,  I  want  you  to  go  to  the  Pis- 
copal  Church  today.  I  want  to  show  you  the 
finest  people  in  town,  and  I  want  you  to  hear 
jest  a  lovely  sarvice  with  the  finest  kind  of  mu 
sic."  I  turned  to  Sally  and  said,  'Sally  Akers,  I 
brung  you  up  a  Methdist,  and  you  are  a  Meth- 
dist  of  the  old  breed  now.  What's  this  talk  I 
hear  of  your  throwin'  away  your  relijun  and  run- 
nin'  arter  lovely  sarvices,  and  finery  and  fuss,  and 
feathers,  and  sich  ?'  Now,  I  hope  you've  got  grit 
enough  to  stand  by  your  relijun  and  raisin'.  Sally 
had  bin  tryin'  to  get  into  siety,  and  I  knowd  it, 
and  she  had  got  her  feelin's  singed  some,  but  it 
didnt  fase  her,  I'm  sorry  to  say.  She  looked  so 
shamed  that  I  didn't  ax  her  any  more  questions, 
but  I  said :  'Sally  Akers,  your  old  dad  is  a  Meth 
dist  and  he's  goin  to  stand  by  his  guns  tell  he 
draps.  He's  agwine  to  his  own  church  jest  like 
the  Piscopals  go  to  their'n.  I  never  hearn  tell 
of  them  leavin'  their  church  sarvices  to  go  to 
ether  preachin'  places." 


ON   THE  TRAIN.  51 

"So  I  went,  and  Sally  and  her  man  went  with 
me  to  hear  Jeems.  They  set  furder  behind  than 
me.  I  tuck  the  very  front  eend-bench  or  pues 
as  they  call  em.  All  the  front-eend  benches  was 
as  empty  as  a  corn  crib  in  July.  I  seed  the  peo 
ple  was  lookin'  cross-eyed  at  me.  Says  I,  'All 
them  benches  are  resarved.  I  must  git  furder 
back.  I  took  a  seat  by  Ike  Payne  who  I  useter 
know  down  in  Painter  township.  I  noticed  them 
front-eend  benches  was  empty  endurin'  the 
whole  sarvice,  and  I  said  to  Ike,  'The  peeple 
them  seats  was  resarved  fer  must  have  went  to 
the  Piscopal  Church  to-day.'  Ike  jest  smiled  and 
didn't  say  nothin'." 

"How  did  you  like  the  sermon?"  I  asked. 

"Brother  Ivry,  I  never  critercise  a  rale  sar- 
mont.  I  never  hearn  none  so  pore  that  I  didn't 
git  some  good  out  of  it.  There  was  one  brother 
who  come  to  my  naborhood  once  that  the  peeple 
wouldn't  go  to  hear.  They  said  he  didn't  have  no 
d'livery.  This  was  so,  and  when  I  hearn  him  he 
didn't  have  nothin'  to  d'liver.  But  all  the  same,  I 
managed  to  git  some  good  out  of  him." 

"Jeem's  sarmont  was  good.  He  preeched  it 
like  a  lawyer  tryin'  to  tawk  to  a  Jewry.  But  the 
whole  thing  wasn't  balanced  right.  You  know 
what  I  mean.  The  whole  thing  minded  me  of  a 


52  BIIJDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

little  ole  kite  that  Sally's  nabor's  boys  was  tryin' 
to  fly.  The  kite  was  not  much  bigger'n  your  hand 
and  thar  was  about  100  yards  of  tail  flutterin'.  It 
wouldn't  fly,  of  course." 

"Why,  Brother  Akers,  what  do  you  mean?" 
said  I. 

"Why,  the  sarmont  was  only  twenty-two  min- 
nits  long  and  tother  sarvices  was  fifty  minnits. 
Now  thar  was  too  much  tail,  that  was  all.  I  be 
lieve  in  the  sarmont  bein'  the  main  thing.  When 
it's  all  tail  it  won't  fly,  that's  all.  I've  got  no  ob 
jection  to  the  'postles  creed,  the  galory,  the  re 
sponsible  readin'  and  so  forth,  jest  so  the  sarmont 
is  the  main  thing.  They  say  that  they've  got  to 
make  the  sarmont  short  in  order  to  have  all  these 
fixins'.  Well,  ef  that's  so,  let's  bust  up  the  fix- 
ins'  and  have  no  galories  and  sich.  These  fixin's 
and  trimmin's  is  ruinin'  the  preechin'  these  days. 
I  couldn't  sense  the  whole  thing,  but  I'm  not 
sayin'  anything  ferninst  the  service  any  congre 
gation  wants  to  use,  but  it  made  me  mad  as  fire  to 
hear  Sally  say  that  Methdists  was  patternin'  after 
the  Piscopals,  and  that  the  Piscopals  have  a  par- 
fectly  lovely  sarvice.  Preechin's  is  the  thing 
that's  gwine  to  save  the  world. 

"Now,  thar  was  another  thing  that  riled  me," 
continued  Bildad.  "Settin'  on  the  piazzy  in  the 


ON   THE  TRAIN.  53 

evenin'  I  hearn  some  young  shavers  jest  gittin' 
out  of  short  dresses  and  knee  britches  talkin' 
about  the  sarmont  in  the  mornin'.  They  said  it 
was  raly  too  long,  and  that  it  made  them  narvous 
to  hear  a  sarmont  over  twenty  minnits  long 
(Jeems  had  preeched  about  twenty-two  minnits.) 
They  said  that  the  preacher  was  ruinin'  his  repy- 
tashun  by  preachin'  so  long.  I  jest  felt  kinder 

sick  in  my  stummick  on  hearin'  such  talk  and  I 

^________ » 

But  here  the  porter  called  Bildad's  station,  and 
the  conversation  ceased,  much  to  my  regret,  for 
I  felt  that  Bildad  was  getting  to  something  very 
interesting.  So  I  bade  him  goodbye.  He  left 
the  car,  sending  back  through  the  doorway  this 
rumbling  exhortation:  "Brother  Ivry,  be  shore 
to  stick  my  name  on  the  left  hand  side  of  the 
Advocate  instid  of  the  right.  I  like  it  that  way 
better." 


BILDAD  AKERS  AND  STREET  PREACH 
ING. 


"Other  churches  air  huntin'  fer  the  meat  the  Meth- 
dists  have  been  gittin  fat  on,  while  the  Methdists  air 
strainin'  with  all  their  might  to  make  other  churches 
fergit  that  Methdists  ever  et  sich  meat." — Bildad  Akers. 


CHAPTER  V. 

A  flaring  red  torch  and  the  sound  of  an  earn 
est  voice  issuing  from  the  centre  of  a  crowd  con 
gested  just  outside  of  the  curbing  and  flowing 
in  ragged  waves  over  the  sidewalk  told  me  that 
the  street  preacher  was  at  work.  I  was  hurrying 
by  to  finish  in  the  office  a  task  which  allowed  no 
delay,  when  a  deep  bass  "amen!"  smote  my 
ears.  I  stopped  and  looked  over  the  crowd  for 
the  owner  of  that  voice  which  I  would  recognize 
in  the  South  Sea  Islands.  A  second  "amen!" 
enabled  me  to  locate  the  voice  in  front  of  the 
wagon  on  which  the  singers  sat  and  the  preach 
er  stood.  There  was  our  old  friend,  Bildad 
Akers,  with  glistening  eyes  and  folded  arms, 
drinking  in  with  a  camp-meeting  eagerness  the 
raucous  exhortation  of  the  excited  preacher. 

I  concluded  to  wait  until  the  conclusion  of  the 
service,  for  I  never  miss  an  opportunity  to  meet 
Bildad  Akers  when  he  comes  to  town.  I  had 
only  a  short  time  to  wait,  however,  for  the  serv 
ice  was  about  over.  After  the  benediction  I 
passed  through  the  scattering  crowd  and  warmly 
greeted  our  old  friend. 

All  the  warmth  of  Bildad's  salutations  is  in 
his  handshake.  It  is  never  in  his  expression, 


58  BILDAD  AKERS :  HIS  BOOK. 

voice,  or  manner.  He  is  a  perfect  stranger  to 
effusiveness  aid  to  many  appears  cold  and  con 
strained.  After  shaking  hands  with  me,  he  kindly 
introduced  "Edditor  Ivry"  to  his  friend,  a  mem 
ber  of  the  police  who  had  volunteered  to  pilot 
his  rural  acquaintance  to  the  northern  part  of 
town. 

It  took  me  only  a  few  minutes  to  relieve  the 
officer  of  his  charge.  I  invited  Bildad  to  the 
office  with  a  view  to  getting  his  ideas  on  the 
subject  of  street  preaching.  He  ventured  the 
statement  that  he  wasn't  feeling  very  "peart" 
and  that  he  didn't  "care  ef  he  did  go  down  and 
set  a  hour  or  two." 

I  gave  him  a  seat  in  the  best  chair.  He  looked 
rather  contemptuously,  I  thought,  at  the  pot  of 
growing  ferns  right  under  Longpre's  master 
piece,  representing  the  Queen  of  the  Roses.  The 
buzz  of  the  electric  fan  seemed  to  disturb  him, 
and  his  remark,  that  he  would  rather  "sweat" 
in  the  old  fashioned  way  than  be  bothered  with 
these  "new-fangled  things,"  induced  me  to  stop 
the  fan. 

"Well,  Brother  Akers,"  I  ventured,  "how  is 
it  that  you  are  found  here  in  Raleigh  actually  lis 
tening  to  the  preaching  in  the  street  just  as  if 
there  were  not  plenty  of  churches  for  you?" 


STREET  PRKACHINC.  59 

At  this  Bildad,  straightened  up  and  shot  a 
look  of  reproachful  defiance  at  me. 

"Ef  you  want  to  know,"  he  said,  "why  I'm 
in  Roily  to-night,  I  will  say  I'm  jest  layin'  over. 
I've  jest  come  from  my  darters  and  I  mus  hide 
out  from  here  gin  nine  o'clock  in  the  mornin', 
'Bout  street  preechin',  I  'low  I've  got  a  right 
to  lissen  to  a  sarmont  wharever  I  kin.  What 
have  you  ferninst  street  preachin'?"  Again  the 
reproachful  defiance  shone  in  his  eyes. 

"Brother  Bildad,  don't  you  think  it  is  a  little 
compromising  to  your  dignity  as  an  official  of 
the  great  Methodist  Church  to  be  found  in  such 
a  promiscuous  crowd,  lending  your  influence  to 
irregular  preaching?" 

Here  Bildad  went  to  the  window  and  expec 
torated,  leaving  me  in  dread  lest  some  irate  be 
sprinkled  pedestrian  should  make  us  a  visit. 
Then  he  hitched  up  his  chair  a  little  nearer  to 
me,  and,  looking  at  me  straight  in  the  eyes,  said, 
"Brother  Ivry,  I'm  a  site  more  supprised  to  hear 
sich  a  question  from  you  than  you  are  to  fine 
me  lined  up  with  a  street  preacher.  The  very 
idee  of  a  Methdis'  puttin'  on  ars  and  lookin' 
down  on  street  preachin'.  Why,  Methdism — I 
larned  it  long  ago — was  brought  up  on  the 
streets  and  in  the  field.  My  book  tells  me  that 


6O  BIUDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

the  fust  preachers  had  to  take  the  streets  and 
fields  to  git  their  crowds.  They  had  no  meetin' 
houses  to  preach  in.  It  makes  me  sick,  Brother 
Ivry,  every  time  I  go  to  town  to  hear  Meth- 
dists  who  still  smell  of  camp-meetin'  straw 
tryin'  to  act  and  talk  so  proper,  and  make  peeple 
believe  that  have  not  knowd  anything  scusin' 
ristocracy,  sassiety,  fine  meetin'  houses,  and  other 
sich  fixins.  We  are  scootin'  a  mile  a  minnit 
furder  from  the  rock  which  we  were  hewed  from 
and  evry  mile  we  go  we  shed  a  sight  of  speritual 
power." 

Receiving  no  reply  from  me,  Bildad  continued : 
"Wasn't  them  peeple  that  was  holdin'  that  meet- 
in'  to-night  Baptises?  The  Baptises  and  Pres- 
byteruns  are  goin'  it  hefty  in  the  street  preech- 
in*  bisness.  I  seed  in  the  Advocate  that  the 
Presbyteruns  put  a  sight  of  money  in  kiverin' 
one  city  with  street  preechers,  and  that  the  'Pis- 
copals  which  are  furriners  is  ackshally  tryin' 
to  git  the  Salvashun  Army  to  jine  em.  Other 
churches  air  huntin'  fer  the  meat  the  Methdists 
have  been  gittin'  fat  on,  while  Methdists  are 
strainin'  with  all  their  might  to  make  other 
churches  fergit  that  Methdists  ever  et  sich  meat. 
Now  aint  that  a  sight  to  make  a  angel  weep  on 
his  harp?" 


STREET  PREACHING.  6l 

"But,  Brother  Akers,"  I  interposed,  "haven't 
we  churches  to  preach  in?  When  we  spend  so 
much  money  to  build  these  churches,  should  we 
not  use  them,  and  when  we  preach  elsewhere, 
doesn't  this  give  the  people  an  excuse  for  staying 
away  from  church  ?  If  they  don't  come  to  church 
it  is  their  own  fault." 

As  Bildad  was  getting  ready  to  answer  these 
questions,  I  could  see  that  "Brother  Ivry's"  stock 
was  declining  in  the  Akers  market.  When  he 
did  answer  it  was  with  a  pitying  smile,  and  he 
said: 

"Brother  Ivry,  did  you  ever  live  in  the  ken- 
try?" 

I  admitted  that  this  privilege  had  never  been 
mine. 

"I  thought  so,"  he  said,  "or  you'd  never 
axed  sich  questions.  When  my  hogs  and  stock 
git  out  and  wont  come  back,  I  dont  spend  much 
time  puttin'  corn  and  slops  in  the  pen  and  fod 
der  and  straw  in  the  stalls,  but  I  says  to  Jim 
and  Jo,  'Go  out  and  find  them  hogs  and  steers. 
Ef  you  caint  drive  'em  back  toll  'em  back.' 
Our  Saviour  when  He  was  travelin'  his  sirkut 
didn't  rent  a  little  store  room  in  the  tempul  and 
put  over  it  a  board  sayin',  'This  is  the  preachin' 
place/  but  he  went  out  atter  the  peeple  and 


62  BILDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

preeched  to  em  whatever  he  could  spot  em,  and 
ackshally  found  some  of  the  most  onlikeliest  of 
em  in  the  reglar  meetin'  place  itself  .  He  was 
not  ashamed  to  take  a  dry  goods  box  for  a  pulpit 
and  preech  in  the  red  light  deestrict  of  Jeru- 
slum." 

"No,  sir,  ef  I  was  a  preecher  of  the  Gospil  I 
wouldn't  hang  around  a  leetle  meetin'  place  and 
fling  out  gospel  truck  to  a  leetle  passel  of  men 
and  wimmen,  but  I'd  mosey  out  and  give  Gospil 
truck  to  peeple  whar  I  could  nail  em,  and  toll 
em  to  the  meetin'  place." 

"It  seems  to  me  the  way  you  see  some  Meth- 
dists  do  that  they  terpret  the  last  noration  of 
our  Saviour  this  way:  'Go  into  all  the  world 
and  preech  the  Gospil  to  every  creacher  every- 
whar  scusin'  in  the  streets  and  tother  onregular 
places.'  I  kaint  find  any  sich  words  in  the  Bible." 

"What's  the  church  fer  nohow?  My  book 
tells  me  that  its  for  savin'  souls.  Its  not  only  a 
horsepittle  but  its  an  amberlance  waggin.  If 
it  kaint  git  a  pore  wounded  brat  to  come  to  the 
horsepittle  it  sends  out  the  waggin  arter  him. 
That's  my  idee  of  relijun,  and  its  pure  bisness. 
How  long  do  you  think  a  big  holesale  shebang 
would  last  if  it  waited  for  customers  to  come 
to  it  and  buy.  Not  six  months.  Yit  the  church 


STREET  PREACHING.  63 

is  spectin'  to  grow  and  flurish  by  settin'  back  on 
its  jew  claws  and  sayin'  Tve  got  the  place  for 
you.  Come  and  be  saved,  and  ef  you  don't  come, 
may  old  Satin  git  the  eendmost.' " 

"Yes,  Edditor  Ivry,  what  I  seed  to-night  is 
cordin'  to  my  idee.  I'm  nothin'  but  a  plain  old 
rusty  field  hand  from  the  kentry,  but  I  kin  see  a 
thing  or  two,  and  my  'pinion  is  that  us  Meth- 
dists  has  got  to  git  a  hustle  on  us  in  our  big 
places  specially,  not  to  be  more  proper  and  have 
better  music  and  finer  meetin'  houses  and  sich 
fixins,  but  to  see  that  the  gospil  is  preeched 
to  the  peeple." 

"Now,  Bud,  I  must  go.  I've  got  to  be  at  the 
quarterly  day  arter  ter-morrer.  I  haint  disap- 
pinted  my  elder  sence  I've  been  a  Stewart  in  ten 
year  comin'  next  November.  I  may  write  the 
paper  bout  the  quarterly  and  give  you  some  of 
my  idees  bout  it." 

Here  Bildad  rose  to  his  feet  and  stretched  his 
mighty  frame.  There  was  evidently  on  his  mind 
some  question  which  he  hardly  knew  how  to  for 
mulate.  I  knew  what  it  was,  and,  as  he  went 
out  after  having  bidden  me  adieu,  I  said,  "I 
agree  with  you  Brother  Akers,  in  all  you  have 
said.  You  have  spoken  my  sentiments." 


THE  FIRST  QUARTERLY  MEETING  OF 
THE  YEAR. 


"When  will  peeple,  specially  Stewarts  of  the  church, 
larn  to  make  a  clean  square-cut  sacrifice  fer  the  Lord 
without  tryin'  to  grease  their  own  waggins  at  the  same 
time?"— Bildad  Akers. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

It  was  a  big  fat  envelope.  It  was  addressed 
in  a  handwriting  that  sprawled  over  half  the 
face  of  the  envelope.  The  contents  were  seven 
pages  of  foolscap,  sewed  together  end  to  end, 
with  black  thread.  The  writing  had  been  done 
with  a  pencil.  There  were  signs  of  numerous 
erasures,  and  the  heavier  black  marks  showed 
the  emphasis  of  renewed  determination  "to  git  it 
right  this  time."  The  name  "Bildad  Akers," 
squeezed  into  the  little  patch  of  blank  space  at 
the  lower  right-hand  corner  of  the  last  page, 
acted  like  magic  in  driving  away  the  frown  which 
settles  on  the  editor's  brow  when  he  sees  "bad 
copy."  Hearing  from  Bildad  is  next  to  seeing 
him.  So,  clearing  off  the  desk,  I  ripped  the 
pages  apart,  numbered  them,  and,  laying  them 
in  order  before  me,  proceeded  to  decipher  Bil- 
dad's  hieroglyphics  with  all  the  enthusiasm 
characteristic  of  one  who  has  found  cuneiform 
inscriptions  among  ancient  ruins. 

But  alas!  after  an  hour's  toiling  I  found  that 
I  could  not  get  the  article  in  literary  shape.  There 
were  undecipherable  parts.  I  could  not  tell 
whether  a  certain  page  was  intended  for  the  fifth 
or  sixth.  I  was  in  a  quandary.  I  could  not  throw 
such  an  article  into  the  waste  basket.  To  return 


68  BILDAD  AKERS :  HIS  BOOK. 

it  would  be  like  returning  a  child's  gift.  Be 
sides,  it  showed  here  and  there  bright  bits  of 
gold  gleaming  in  the  fissures  of  disconnected  sen 
tences  and  misspelled  words.  So  I  concluded 
to  give  our  honest  rugged  old  philosopher  a  place 
on  the  editorial  page  and  let  him  cry  some  of 
his  best  thought-wares  from  this  advantageous 
position. 

Bildad  was  redeeming  his  promise  to  send  us 
a  letter,  telling  of  his  first  quarterly  meeting.  I 
will  use  his  own  language,  as  he  is  very  sensi 
tive  as  to  changes  in  his  verbiage  and  spelling. 
I  have,  however,  eliminated  many  crudities  in 
spelling  and  punctuation. 

"I  got  up  bright  and  arly,  Brother  Ivry,  on 
last  Satidy  mornin'  to  tend  the  quarterly.  The 
fack  that  it  was  the  fust  in  the  year  didn't  play 
any  bones  with  me,  for  I've  been  a  Stewart  forty 
year  comin'  next  October,  and  I've  missed  only 
three  quarterlies.  I  tuk  it  that  when  I  was  lected 
stewart,  I  was  'lected  to  be  in  my  place.  Ef  I 
was  one  of  these  Stewarts  that  dont  never  tend 
the  quarterlies  and  other  meetin's,  I  would  fire 
in  my  resignashun.  Sich  Stewarts  is  a  bain  to 
the  church." 

Here  follow  a  few  lines  telling  about  the  di 
rections  he  gave  his  wife  on  starting,  and  the 


THE  FIRST  "QUARTERLY."  69 

fifteen  miles  between  his  house  and  the  church 
where  the  "quarterly"  was  held.  But  I  take  up 
the  thread  at  the  end  of  the  journey. 

"Brother  Ivry,  I  never  seed  so  many  at  a 
quarterly  before.  Cap'n  Hanks  and  Bose  King 
was  there.  Jimmy  Deeton  was  there.  Jimmy 
had  been  church  Confearance  scribe  for  ten  year, 
and  ef  he  had  ever  acted  I  disremember  the  time 
— but  it  was  bekase  thar  had  never  been  no 
Church  Confearance.  Arter  chattin'  for  a  spell 
with  the  bretheren,  I  seed  Jimmy  ride  off.  I 
axed  som'un  whar  he  was  goin'.  Som'un  said 
'To  the  sale  at  Jink's  store.'  I  sensed  then  what 
had  fetched  sich  a  big  crowd.  Tryin'  to  kill 
two  sparrows  with  one  rock.  Mixin'  relijun 
and  bisness.  The  crowd  must  have  seed  disgust 
on  my  face.  When  will  people,  specially  stew- 
arts  of  the  church,  larn  to  make  a  clean  square 
cut  sacrifice  for  the  Lord  without  tryin'  to  grease 
their  own  waggins  at  the  same  time  ?  That  feller 
Simon  Maggut  has  been  preechin'  a  fine  sarmont 
to  me  endurin'  all  these  yeers." 

The  sermon  of  the  Presiding  Elder  was  very 
acceptable  to  Bildad,  who  is  truly  a  good  judge 
of  preaching.  He  designated  the  sermon  as  a 
"good  old  corn  bread  sarmont,  made  of  water 
ground  meal." 


70  BILDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

I  will  let  Bildad  tell  about  the  Quarterly  Con 
ference  in  his  own  way: 

"It  was  a  little  amusin'  when  the  Elder  arter 
the  sarmont  axed  the  bretheren  'bout  when  the 
quarterly  should  be  helt.  Cap'n  Hanks  and  Bose 
King  and  others  flew  up  like  a  kuvvy  of  pat- 
tridges  and  said  they  had  a  little  bisness  to  tend 
to  gin  2  o'clock  and  they  would  like  to  have  the 
quarterly  helt  right  away.  They  raly  wanted  to 
git  through  in  time  for  the  sale  at  Jink's.  But 
they  didn't  say  so.  Then  without  givin'  us  blowin' 
time,  the  quarterly  was  hooked  up  ready  for 
travellin'. 

I  wuz  settin'  by  the  winder  chattin'  with  Jeems 
Blacker,  and  I  sed,  'Jeems,  tell  me  one  thing, 
Why  does  Cap'n  Hanks  and  Bose  King  allus 
come  hoppin'  up  at  the  fust  quarterly  every  time, 
and  the  rest  of  the  year  make  themselves  scace 
as  a  ground  hog  in  the  winter  time?  Thar  aint 
a  sale  so  nigh  a  quarterly  every  time.'  Jeems 
kinder  sniggered  an  said,  'No,  Bildad,  them 
bretheren  didn't  come  up  here  to-day  count  the 
sale  at  Jinks.  They  would  have  missed  the  sale 
count  of  the  quarterly.  You  jest  watch  em  when 
the  preecher's  lowance  is  fixed.  I  knowed  all- 
reddy,  but  I  jest  axed  Jeems  to  see  ef  he  could 
see  through  a  holler  log." 


THE  FIRST     QUARTERLY.  Jl 

On  the  third  page  I  managed  to  make  out  Bil- 
dad's  ideas  as  to  the  preacher's  part  in  the  fixing 
of  his  salary. 

"Arter  the  roll  was  called,  and  the  scribe  had 
writ  down  the  names,  and  the  preacher  had  read 
his  report  about  the  Lege  and  Sunday-school  and 
childern  and  sed  that  he  didn't  have  no  rit  report 
about  the  church  sence  it  was  so  nigh  after  con- 
fearance,  and  sed  he  couldn't  give  no  figgers 
of  last  year's  work  sence  the  minnits  hadn't  been 
printed,  and  the  Elder  had  giv  him  a  reglar 
soakin'  about  not  havin'  his  report  and  keepin' 
his  own  figgers  with  him,  the  Elder  cleared  his 
throte  and  axed  what  mount  had  bin  estymayted 
fer  the  support  of  the  preacher.  Ob  larnin'  that 
no  meetin'  of  the  Stewarts  had  been  helt,  he 
said  they  must  fix  up  the  matter  afore  he  could 
go  on.  So  the  Stewarts  helt  a  kind  of  meetin' 
right  jam  in  the  middle  of  the  quarterly.  And 
right  here  old  Brother  Reems  from  the  lower 
eend  of  the  Sirkut  riz  and  said  he  persumed  the 
preecher  would  not  like  to  stay  in.  Then  I  riz 
to  my  feet  and,  said,  Bretheren,  I  can't  sense  what 
this  means.  What  does  anyone  want  the  preech 
er  to  go  out  fer?  We  aint  gwine  to  hurt  his 
feelin's.  We  aint  gwine  to  buse  his  wife  and  chil 
dern.  We  is  jest  gwine  to  tawk  about  what  pay 


72  BILDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

he  is  goin'  to  git  from  us  this  year.  Its  his  pay, 
and  he  has  got  a  right  to  have  a  say  so.  •  Ef  he 
was  gwine  to  work  on  your  farm  you  would'nt 
tell  him  to  go  out  to  the  well  and  then  in  a  few 
minnits  send  out  the  boy  and  tell  him  arter  con- 
siderin'  the  matter  you  had  agreed  to  give  him  50 
sents  a  day  and  his  board.  No,  you  and  him 
would  fix  the  prise  betwixt  you  and  thar  would 
be  no  goin'  out  to  the  well.  I  move  you,  that  we 
let  the  preecher  stay  in  and  know  what's  gwine 
on  when  his  bread  and  meat  for  the  year  is  bein' 
fixed.  They  agreed  to  let  him  stay.  They  seed 
I  had  my  dander  up." 

"We  had  a  long  argyment  over  what  the 
preecher's  pay  should  be.  In  that  argyment  Cap'n 
Hanks  and  Bose  King  showed  what  they  come 
fer.  They  fit  over  it  jest  like  two  game  roosters. 
They  warmed  up  ferninst  each  other  like  two 
dogs  on  a  cold  day  when  they  wus  trying  to  re- 
juce  the  pay  from  $700.00  to  $650.00.  But  when 
this  went  agin  'em  and  the  pay  was  fixed  at  $750 
arter  a  speech  I  made,  they  went  at  each  other, 
each  one  tryin'  his  levelest  to  keep  his  church's 
sessment  down  to  the  lowest  notch.  Cap'n  Hanks 
wanted  Bose's  church  to  have  a  bigger  sessment 
that  his'n,  and  Bose  wanted  the  sessment  of 
Cap'n  Hank's  church  to  be  bigger'n  his'n.  And 


THE  FIRST  "QUARTERLY."  73 

so  it  went  on  betwixt  them  two  Stewarts  who 
allus  tended  the  fust  quarterly  and  no  more  en- 
durin'  the  year  jest  bekase  they  paid  the  biggest 
quarterage  at  their  church  and  they  wanted  to 
keep  it  down  all  they  could.  Brother  Ivry,  do 
write  an  eddytoral  about  keepin'  sich  skint  flints 
in  the  Church  as  Stewarts.  They  do  nothin'  but 
make  the  peeple  mad  when  it  comes  to  payin'  the 
preecher." 

Bildad  said  a  good  many  other  things  which 
would  make  good  reading.  He  said  that  when 
the  question  was  asked  the  preacher  did  not  know 
how  many  Advocates  were  taken  on  the  charge, 
and  that  he  had  to  make  another  speech  in  which 
he  said  that  he  hadn't  heard  the  preacher  mention 
the  paper  from  the  pulpit  during  the  whole  year, 
and  wondered  how  the  people  could  be  expected 
to  know  anything  about  the  church  and  get  along 
without  the  church  paper.  But  Bildad  would  be 
rejoiced,  I  know,  to  learn  that  we  have  very 
few  preachers  like  his  in  the  Conference. 

I  will  give  the  last  of  the  letter  as  well  as  I 
can  make  it  out: 

"Arter  the  quarterly  was  over,  who  should 
come  up  but  Jimmy  Deeton,  his  old  hoss  loaded 
down  with  old  plows  and  shovels  which  he  had 
bought  for  about  75  cents.  He  was  jest  frum  the 


74  BILBAO  AKERS :  HIS  BOOK. 

sale.  I  axed  him  why  he  wasn't  at  the  quarterly. 
He  sed,  Tm  not  a  member.'  'You  are  a  mem 
ber/  I  said.  'Aint  you  Church  Confearance 
scribe  ?'  'Yes,'  he  said.  'Then,'  I  said,  'you  are  a 
member  of  the  quarterly.'  Jimmy  said  he  didn't 
know  it  ef  he  was.  Then  I  said,  'Jimmy,  there 
are  severial  things  you  need.  You  need  a  dis-sip- 
lin  to  tell  you  who  belongs  to  a  quarterly  and  your 
church  paper  to  tell  you  when  your  quarterly  is 
helt.  You  didn't  know  about  the  quarterly  bein' 
helt  to-day  ontell  you  got  mixed  up  with  us  here 
to-day  on  your  way  to  the  sail.'  Jimmy  then 
spoke  of  goin'  with  me.  I  tole  him  I  wasn't  goin' 
home  that  night.  I  was  goin'  to  stay  thru  preech- 
in'  Sundy.  That^s  my  plan  and  has  been  for 
twenty  yeer.  This  thing  of  Stewarts  goin'  home 
on  Satidy  has  almost  broke  up  the  Sundy  half  of 
a  quarterly.  I  allus  stay  over  and  tell  the  other 
Stewarts  to  do  the  same,  no  matter  ef  they  are 
Sundy  School  Superintenders  and  hanker  arter 
their  wives  and  childern." 

Bildad  Akers  is  a  Methodist  of  the  fine  golden 
type.  He  is  not  versed  in  the  ways  of  the  world. 
His  trousers  bag  at  the  knees,  and  he  has  never 
yet  learned  to  wear  a  cravat,  much  less  tie  one. 
He  smashes  grammar  in  his  speech.  His  words 
are  quaint  and  primitive.  When  it  comes, 


FIRST  "QUARTERLY."  75 

though,  to  making  a  record  of  hearts  of  gold  and 
minds  blessed  with  that  rare  learning  called  com 
mon  sense;  when  it  comes  to  grading  men  of 
strong  faith,  loyal  consecration,  and  unswerving 
fidelity  to  Right,  who  are  heroes  all  in  the  great 
charges  on  the  spiritual  and  temporal  battlefields 
of  the  church,  I  must  place  our  old  friend  and 
philosopher  among  the  first.  He  and  those  like 
him  are  the  hope  of  the  church.  May  his  tribe 
increase. 

Perhaps  this  tribute  will  serve  to  allay  any 
disappointment  that  may  arise  within  him  when 
he  fails  to  see  all  of  his  long  letter  in  print.  May 
our  readers  be  as  tolerant  as  he. 


A  REMEDY  FOR  A  SICKLY  PRAYER 
MEETING. 


"Any  preecher  who  kin  fill  his  meetin'  house  at  pra'r- 
meetin'  will  walk  round  as  a  mighty  peart  preecher." — 
Bildad  Akers. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Our  old  friend  and  philosopher,  Bildad  Akers, 
is  fond  of  big  gatherings,  and  he  never  misses 
an  opportunity  to  see  and  hear  the  celebrated 
men  of  the  country.  I  felt  sure  that  the  Bryan 
celebration  in  our  city  would  bring  Bildad  from 
the  retirement  in  which  he  seemingly  had  been 
hiding  during  the  summer.  But  I  hardly  expect 
ed  to  see  him  in  Raleigh  a  few  days  ahead  of  the 
celebration  on  Monday. 

On  Saturday  afternoon  he  was  in  the  office. 
He  came  in  without  knocking.  He  was  without 
collar  and  coat  except  as  he  carried  the  latter 
on  his  arm  and  the  former  in  the  pocket  of  his 
coat.  I  could  see  a  limp  end  sticking  out.  He 
returned  my  greeting  with  that  composure  which 
never  deserts  him  except  when  he's  standing  in 
a  crowd  on  the"  street.  They  say  that  he  is  a 
terrible  joker  when  he  feels  that  circumstances 
do  not  require  him  to  maintain  his  dignity.  To 
tell  the  truth,  he  is  one  of  the  men  "who  live 
by  the  side  of  the  road."  He  has  the  human 
touch. 

Flinging  his  coat  on  the  safe  in  the  outer 
office,  and  asking  me  to  stop  that  "new  f angled 
thing"  which  made  him  feel  as  he  said  "like 
he  was  at  Jim  Sikes'  planin'  mill,"  Bildad  mopped 


8O  BILBAO  AKERS  :  HIS  BOOK. 

his  perspiring  face,  sat  down  in  the  stenograph 
er's  chair,  and  fastened  on  me  a  look  which  plain 
ly  said,  "I  wonder  what  you  are  up  to  now?" 

I  first  massaged  his  spirits  with  heartfelt  inter 
rogations  as  to  his  health  and  that  of  "Lizy,"  and 
the  "childern"  now  somewhat  scattered.  The 
hard  lines  (they  were  on  his  face  and  not  in  his 
tender  old  heart)  softened,  and  when  he  had 
edged  his  chair  near  the  window  thrqugh  which 
to  expectorate,  I  saw  that  he  was  ready  for  a 
good  hour's  stay  with  me.  If  he  had  ever 
felt  any  constraint  in  the  presence  of  the  editor, 
it  had  worn  off  long  ago.  I  felt  happy  that  Bil- 
dad  considered  me  a  friend. 

Before  I  had  a  chance  to  draw  him  out  on 
the  purpose  of  his  visit  to  Raleigh — a  purpose 
with  which  I  was  already  acquainted,  he  said: 

"Brother  Ivry,  I  went  roun  tother  night  to  hear 
Galbert.  I  had  been  hearin'  a  sight  of  him  and 
readin'  of  him  in  the  Advocate,  and  I  meandered 
round  to  pr'ar  meetin'  arter  supper." 

"Galbert?"     I  said;  you  mean  "Galbraith." 

"Didn't  I  say  it,"  said  Bildad.  "I  never  hearn 
tell  of  your  bein'  deff.  Galbert  is  the  one  I  mean ; 
old  Brother  Bernis  Galbert's  son." 

"Well,  I  went  round  to  hear  Galbert  at  pra'r 
meetin'.  I  hadn't  been  thar  sence  they  tacked 


A  PRAYER-MEETING  REMEDY.  8l 

on  a  full  house  consert  as  a  tail  eend  to  a  leetle 
two  by  fore  pra'r  meetin'.  When  I  went  in  tother 
night,  I  seed  the  house  was  about  full.  The 
platform  was  kivered  with  boys  and  gerls  in  their 
Sundy  close  and  the  main  audytorum  was  filled 
with  peeple  of  all  ages." 

"I  said  to  myself,  'Bildad,  as  shore  as  guns 
iurn,  they  are  gwine  to  have  the  consert  fust  this 
time  and  pra'r  meetin'  arterward.  You  had  bet 
ter  skedaddle  and  come  back  to  be  with  the  leetle 
pra'r  meetin'  crowd  when  its  turn  comes." 

"But  afore  I  could  squirm  Galbert  had  started 
a  pra'r,  and  then  the  organ  lady  ground  out  on 
the  pianny  a  reglar  old-time  meetin'  tune.  The 
Chairman  of  the  board  of  Stewarts  had  somethin' 
to  say  bout  the  fynances.  Then  they  sung  and 
prayed.  Then  the  Sunday-skool  superintender 
made  a  fine  speech  on  his  Sunday-skool.  A  lady 
had  a  heap  to  say  about  mishuns.  A  young  man 
spoke  on  the  Epworth  Lege. 

There  was  singin'  and  pra'r  and  pra'r  and 
singin'  and  when  the  meetin'  busted  all  them  peo 
ple  felt  good.  I  felt  good  myself.  I  seed  that 
Galbert  had  not  only  got  his  crowd  out  to  pra'r. 
meetin  but  that  he  had  had  one  of  the  best  church 
confearances  I  ever  tended — and  all  that  too  on 
a  Wensdy  night.  My  friend  Visuvious  Moister 


82  BILDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

tole  me  that  it  was  allmost  that  good  every  Wens- 
dy  night.  I  said,  'Galbert'll  do.  Any  preecher 
who  kin  fill  his  meetin'  house  at  a  pra'r  meetin' 
will  walk  round  as  a  mighty  peart  preecher.'  " 

"Brother  Ivry,  I'm  goin  to  give  you  my  idees 
about  gittin'  the  people  out  to  pra'r  meetin'.  You 
think  maybe  that  I'm  a  rusty  old  back  woodman 
and  dont  keep  up  much  with  town  doins'.  Well, 
thar's  whar  you  drapped  your  eend  of  the  log. 
I  manage  to  keep  my  eyes  skinned,  and  not  for 
nothin'  either.  I  know  enough  about  town  doin's 
to  know  that  a  leetle  bit  the  onlikeliest  job  a 
town  preecher  has  got  is  to  git  his  flock  out  in 
the  pra'r  meetin'  pastur." 

"My  fust  pint  is  that  a  preecher  must  give 
his  people  somethin'  when  they  git  ter  pra'r  meet- 
in'.  It'll  not  do  for  the  preecher  to  knock  up 
arter  supper  a  few  pints  on  one  of  David's  Sams 
and  then  try  to  dish  em  out  as  fried  chickin  to 
the  people.  Them  people  will  know  the  difrunce. 
They  knows  the  difrunce  twixt  sawdust  and 
brown  shoogar,  and  don't  you  ever  forgit  it.  Pee- 
ple  kin  gage  to  the  minnit  jist  how  much  time 
a  preecher  spends  on  his  little  tawk.  They  will 
turn  out  of  a  Sunday  bekase  they  haint  got 
nothin'  else  to  do  or  bekase  they  hanker  to  see 
their  nabors,  or  bekase  it  is  expected  of  em  to 


A  PRAYER-MEETING  REMEDY.  83 

go  to  meetin'  of  a  Sundy.  But  when  it  turns 
to  gittin  people  out  of  a  week  night,  you  have 
got  to  promis  to  give  em  somethin'.  Ef  they 
don't  git  it  they'll  not  go  back,  and  the  pra'r 
crowd  must  be  made  up  of  the  piousest  saints 
of  the  church." 

"Why,  old  Jabe  Baggart  used  to  have  the  aw- 
fulest  time  gittin'  a  crowd  at  his  corn  shuckin's. 
The  nabors  had  no  trubble,  but  ole  Jabe  used 
to  shuck  his  crowd  tell  nearly  daylight  bekase 
thar  was  so  few  of  them.  The  matter  was,  old 
Jabe  was  so  pizen  stingy,  he  wouldn't  haf  feed 
his  shuckers.  Late  ro^en  years  and  punkin  cus 
tards  was  about  all  the  grub  they  got.  Do  you 
wonder  that  his  shuckin'  crowd  drapped  down 
to  almost  nothin'?  They  wanted  good  grub  and 
plenty  of  it  arter  they  finished  the  pile.  Thar 
is  a  heap  of  Jabe  Saggarts  mongst  preechers  try- 
in'  to  run  pra'r  meetin's  that  looks  like  a  passel 
of  peeple  a-settin'  up  with  a  corps.  And  ef  a 
preecher  don't  study  and  pray  and  do  his  allmity 
best  at  his  pra'r  meetin'  the  crowd  wont  be  thar, 
bekase  they  know  rashuns  will  be  scant." 

I  here  started  to  formulate  my  assent  to  the 
philosophical  remarks  of  Bildad,  but,  with  a  sig 
nificant  gesture,  he  waved  me  into  silence,  and 
proceeded : 


84  BII.DAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

"My  next  pint  is,  Bud,  that  to  have  a  full  pra'r 
meetin'  you've  got  to  have  a  vriety — a  mixtur. 
People  git  tired  of  good  things  sometimes  when 
the're  all  of  the  same  kind.  There's  nothin'  peeple 
likes  better  than  a  change  evry  now  and  then. 
Even  ef  it  is  fer  the  wuss,  the  very  change  makes 
it  intrustin'." 

"I  member  one  year,  I  disremember  which, 
was  a  mighty  blackberry  year.  My  Lizy  put  up 
a  heap  of  blackberries  and  that  winter  it  was 
blackberry  pie  ontell  I  got  lonesum.  Thar's 
nothin'  better  than  a  blackberry  pie,  but  black 
berry  pie  evry  day  somehow  or  tother  makes  you 
sour  on  blackberries.  So  one  day  arter  dinner, 
I  said  to  Lizy,  'Lizy,  you've  knowed  every  sence 
we  bunched  rags  that  I  haint  never  kicked  fer- 
ninst  the  eatin'  department  of  this  here  ranch. 
I  ginerally  eats  what  sets  afore  me.  But  dont 
you  raly  think  you've  went  fur  enuff  in  this 
blackberry  pie  bisness  ?'  " 

"Lizy  said  nothin',  but  next  day  it  was  dried 
apple  pie.  Now  dried  apple  pie  is  a  kind  of  God 
Forsaken  grub.  Wasn't  it  Shakeyourspere  or 
some  other  high  minded  writer  of  potry  which 

said: 

"  'Of  all  the  grub  below  the  skies 
The  porest  is  dried  apple  pies'? 

"But  do  you  know,  Ivry,  that  that  dried-apple 


A  PRAYER-MEETING  REMEDY.  85 

pie  that  day  tasted  like  poun  cake,  jest  bekase 
it  was  a  change?" 

"A  preecher  caint  have  the  same  thing  at  evry 
pra'r  meetin'.  The  grub  must  change.  The 
change  may  give  porer  grub,  but  bekase  it  is  a 
change  it  loosens  up  the  spiritual  lites  and  mus 
sels,  and  brings  the  peeple  back  to  the  trawf  the 
next  week." 

At  this  juncture  the  foreman  came  to  see  about 
some  copy,  and  Bildad's  preachment  was  cut 
short.  When  the  foreman  left  the  office,  Bildad 
had  evidently  closed  his  mouth  on  the  prayer- 
meeting  question,  for  not  another  word  could  I 
get  from  him  on  this  subject. 

We  exchanged  a  few  views  on  the  weather  and 
the  price  of  cotton.  Then  Bildad,  hitching  his 
chair  nearer  to  mine,  proceeded  to  ask  in  a  slight 
ly  subdued  tone  if  I  really,  thought  that  Mr. 
Roosevelt's  new  spelling  had  any  chance  of  com 
ing  into  general  use?  I  expressed  myself  as  be 
lieving  that  the  whole  thing  was  a  kind  of  Tam- 
O-Shanter  ride  along  the  turnpike  of  orthogra 
phy. 

"I  dont  know,"  said  Bildad,  "what  you  mean 
by  'tammyshanter'  and  'orthograffy,'  but  I'm  fer 
this  here  kind  of  spelling  claws  and  hide.  I'm 
a  kind  of  captin'  on  the  subject  of  spellin,  and 


86  BIL.DAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

evry  thing  to  make  people  spell  rite  is  the  thing 
fer  me.  I  looked  over  Mr.  Roosyvell's  list  of 
words  and  I  seed  that  I  had  been  spellin'  some 
of  them  words  all  the  time  jist  like  Mr.  Roosy- 
vell." 

Bildad  had  evidently  made  out  his  visit.  Ris 
ing  to  his  feet,  he  yawned  and  said,  "I've  got 
to  break  bread  with  my  old  frien  Charly  McCul- 
lis  to-night,  so  I  mout  as  well  be  goin'.  Our 
meetin'  begins  to-morrow  comin  a  week,  and  I 
will  send  you  a  letter  about  it  ef  you  spell  my 
words  jest  like  I  spell  'em.  Good-bye,  Bud,  and 
come  out  to  the  speakin'  a  Monday." 

He  slowly  drew  on  his  coat,  and,  collarless, 
and  waving  a  great  palm  leaf  fan  he  had  picked 
up,  he  went  down  stairs  to  walk  up  street  as  an 
unterrified  freeman  of  this  great  country. 


A  BEWILDERING  BUT  INTERESTING 
LETTER. 


"Hard  times  in  the  hart  and  not  in  the  craps  is  what 
makes  scant  c'lections." — Bildad  Akers. 


v  CHAPTER  VIII. 

The  personality  of  Bildad  Akers  exudes  almost 
from  a  sealed  envelope.  When,  looking  through 
my  mail,  I  came  across  an  old-fashioned  envel 
ope,  having  a  three-cent  stamp  pasted  with 
starch  on  the  left-hand  corner,  and  containing  an 
address  written  near  the  top  to  "Edittor  Ivry, 
Roily  Christian  Advocate,  Roily,  N.  C.,"  I,  of 
course,  knew  that  a  letter  from  our  old  friend 
Bildad  Akers  lay  before  me.  Yet,  independently 
of  the  peculiarity  of  envelope,  stamp,  and  ad 
dress,  I  could  have  almost  determined  at  a  mere 
glance  the  identity  of  the  writer. 

It  took  me  quite  a  while  to  read  through  the 
letter.  Bildad's  chirography  is  not  so  good  as 
he  thinks  his  spelling  and  grammar  to  be.  The 
editor  who  fashioned  into  shape  the  wonderful 
and  scrappy  copy  of  Professor  Teufelsdrockh,  and 
gave  us  Sartor  Resartus,  never  had  on  his  hands 
a  bigger  job  than  mine  when  I  essayed  to  read 
and  resolve  into  editorial  shape  that  marvellous 
letter  of  Bildad  Akers.  Yet  it  was  a  labor  of 
love.  I  cannot  publish  the  letter  in  its  entirety. 
I  can  give  only  certain  extracts. 

Bildad  evidently  made  an  effort  to  explain  to 
me  why  he  wrote  a  letter  instead  of  coming  to 


9O  BIUDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

the  office  in  person  as  he  had  been  accustomed  to 
do.  I  know  this  from  the  following: 

"Brother  Ivry,  I  dont  pollygise  for  sendin'  a 
letter.  It  was  sot  in  my  mind  to  go  to  Roily  and 
see  you  and  tell  of  our  meetin'  and  sich  jest  like 
I  promussed.  I  done  my  best,  but  here  I  am  with 
pen  in  hand  drappin'  you  a  few  lines  and  hopin' 
as  how  you  are  peart  and  sassy  and  enjyin'  the 
same  blessin'." 

"I  raly  thought  I  would  git  to  the  Fair.  I  hate 
to  miss  a  fair.  I  love  to  see  the  hogs  and  hosses, 
and  there  is  only  one  man  who  enjys  'em  more 
and  that  is  my  old  friend  Dee  Long,  who  was 
once  preserdent  of  the  fare.  But  bout  at  that 
identycle  time  a  misery  come  in  my  jints  and  I 
couldn't  moove  a  wheel.  I  mean  jest  afore  the 
fair." 

"I  don't  know  ef  I  ort  to  tell  you,  but  I  did 
think  of  goin'  up  on  sircus  day,  two  weeks  ago 
a  comin'  of  a  Wensdy.  Of  course  I  didnt  low  to 
go  in.  But  I  have  all  the  same  a  kind  of  hank- 
erin'  arter  sircusses.  I  love  hosses  and  animals 
and  brass  bands.  I  love  a  steam  pianny.  I  love 
crouds.  But  do  you  know,  Ivry,  that  Lizy  al 
most  sprung  a  fit  when  I  lowed  one  day  I  would 
go  up  to  Roily  on  Wensdy  even  ef  it  was  sircus 
day.  She  blazed  out  at  me  in  a  kind  of  vishus 


A  BEWILDERING  LETTER.  91 

way,  for  Lizy  never  quarrels :  "You're  a  purty 
site,  Bildad  Akers,  to  make  a  sircus  an  excuse 
for  bein'  in  that  sircus  crowd.  You're  a  buti- 
full  yooth  to  be  thinking  about  them  things  at 
your  age.  Edittor  Ivry  will  be  shore  to  find  it 
out,  and  how  will  you  feel  when  all  your  friends 
see  in  the  Advocate  that  Bildad  Akers  was  in 
Roily  of  a  Wensdy,  and  p'raps  he  went  to  the 
sirkus,  for  he  made  himself  scace  about  the  offis  ? 
Now,  how  does  that  tech  you,  Bildad?'  It 
teched  me  nuff  to  keep  me  at  home,  and  thats 
how  I  come  to  be  writin'  this  letter  with  my 
rumatiz  hand." 

The  great  event  of  the  year  with  Bildad  Akers 
is  the  "big  meetin'."  His  heart  is  wrapped  up 
in  his  church  and  his  preacher,  and  a  year  with 
out  a  "big  meetin'  "  at  his  church  would  be  as 
strange  to  him  as  a  year  without  a  spring  or  sum 
mer.  He  went  on  to  say. 

"Our  big  meetin'  has  come  and  went.  I  was 
a  leetle  riled  at  fust.  The  thing  didn't  go  off 
to  suit  my  noshuns  of  sich  things.  We  had  meet- 
in'  twice  a  day,  with  dinner  flung  in  betwixt. 
The  weather  was  all  right  and  the  preecher  was 
in  good  kilter,  but  somehow  the  folks  didn't  turn 
out.  Then  the  preecher  begun  to  rake  'em  up 
and  down  the  back — the  very  fokes  that  had 


92  BIU5AD  AKERS :  HIS  BOOK. 

did  their  duty.  What  makes  preechers  do  this 
ennyhow  ?  Well,  the  thing  went  on  till  Chusedy 
and  thar  had  bin  only  one  morner  and  he  was 
Jim  Tarrover,  who  goes  to  evry  meetin'  as  reglur 
as  he  goes  to  cote  to  get  on  the  jury.  Jim's  a 
kinder  profeshional  morner.  He  thinks  he  ort 
to  go  up  to  the  alter  wunce  to  pay  for  the  vittels 
he  et  betwixt  sarmonts." 

"Well,  the  thing  went  on.  The  preecher  fussed. 
He  kept  rakin'  that  old  curry  come  up  and  down 
their  backs.  Ole  man  Pete  Hoover  and  Ben 
Smith  sot  and  seemed  to  try  to  see  which  could 
squirt  terbacker  juce  the  furdest  outer  the  win 
der.  Chuseday  evenin'  thar  wasnt  a  morner.  Jim 
Tarrover  had  thro  wed  up  his  job.  I  beleeve  he 
was  foundered.  He  snored  like  he  was.  The  pee- 
ple,  what  thar  was  of  em,  looked  diskuraged. 
I  seed  the  thing  was  about  to  sizzle  out,  and  jest 
afore  the  bennydicshun  I  riz  up  in  meetin',  I  did. 
I  ketched  the  eye  of  the  preecher  and  I  dejected 
a  few  remarks,  as  Jim  Moon  says." 

"Lizy  looked  at  me  like  I  was  outer  my  head, 
but  I  didn't  never  bawk.  I  didn't  bat  a  eye  nuth- 
er.  I  said :  "My  frends  and  bretherin',  a  meetin' 
is  a  mighty  simple  thing  to  run,  not  'lowin'  as 
how  I  know  how  to  run  one  more'n  the  preecher. 

A  meetin's  jest  like  anything  else  that's  got 


A  BEWILDERING  LETTER.  93 

to  be  run  with  bed  work.  -God  throo  His  Sperrit 
dishes  out  the  power,  but  He  sartinly  expects  the 
peeple  to  pray  and  work  and  do  a  site  of  hed 
work.  I've  sot  here  day  arter  day  and  its  come 
to  me  that  we've  all  been  backard,  not  in  preechin' 
and  singin'  and  pray  in',  but  in  good  old  hed  work. 
All  of  us  needs  more  common  sense,  reglar  old 
stable  yard  sense.  Brother  preecher,  you  need 
it  the  same  as  the  ballance  of  us.  You've  bin 
rakin'  us  up  and  down  the  back  and  not  a  smile 
has  lit  your  face  endurin'  all  your  preechin'." 

"Then  thar  is  too  many  rashuns  et  on  them 
grounds  out  thar.  Big  dinners  has  killed  a  site 
of  meetins'.  Why,  I  can  look  around  me  and 
kin  count  a  duzzen  men  who  is  as  scant  of  fisical 
git  up  and  git  as  a  water  logged  dawg.  You're 
all  jest  lissen  at  Jim  Tarrover  a  snorin'  over  thar 
same  as  a  fattened  hog  who  has  et  too  much. 
Whar  fine  grub  abounds  the  Sperrit  hasn't  got  haf 
a  chance,  and  grace  much  less  abounds.  How  kiri 
peeple  have  a  proper  consarn  for  souls  when  they 
have  in  'em  haf  a  watermillion  a  peace?  Its  the 
flesh  lustin'  ferninst  the  Sperrit  as  shore  as  you 
are  borned.  Its  not  as  much  the  pride  of  the  eye 
by  a  bloomin'  sight  as  the  pride  of  the  stummick." 

"By  this  time  even  Jim  Tarrover  had  got  up, 
and  all  the  people  was  listenin'.  Then  I  said: 


94  BILBAO  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

'Brethren,  we've  begun  tootin'  at  the  wong  eenc 
of  the  horn.  We've  bin  fishin'  for  the  out-break- 
in'  sinners  and  they  aint  here.  Lets  fish  for 
some  of  these  hongry  saints  who  is  more  richer 
in  full  ponches  than  in  Sperrit-filled  hearts. 
Thar's  two  of  them  over  thar  who  aint  spoke  to 
each  other  endurin'  the  meetin'.  Thar's  a  man 
back  thar  who  has  led  in  pra'r  and  they  know 
down  at  the  store  that  he'd  give  a  feller  the  thick 
eend  of  the  log  in  a  trade  quick'ern  a  nigger 
will  rob  a  hen  roost.  I  sot  by  a  man  yistiddy 
who  counts  himself  a  piller  and  his  breth  smelt 
as  strong  of  whiskey  as  the  bar'l  itself.  You 
wunder  why  we  dont  have  the  crowds.  Why, 
ef  it  was  raly  knowed  that  one  of  them  saints 
had  raly  confest  and  come  out  fair  and  squair 
fer  the  Lord,  the  people  would  come  here,  ef  fer 
nothin'  else  to  see  how  the  convarted  saints  look 
on  a  decent  stummick." 

"Then  some  of  you  brethren  pray  too  long.  Two 
of  you  seemed  to  be  havin  a  match  game  of  it 
yistiddy,  each  seem'  as  how  he  could  out  pray 
the  other.  Rastle  in  pra'r  with  old  Marster  and 
not  with  your  feller  man.  Now,  bretheren,  let's 
begin  at  the  right  eend.  Lets  do  a  leetle  knee 
work  rite  now  and  here  and  git  ourselves  rite. 
I  begun  my  tawk  with  the  preecher,  and  I  want 


A  BEWILDERING  LETTER.  95 

him  to  begin  now  by  leadin'  us  all  in  pra'r  to  the 
eend  that  not  a  sinner  of  us  leave  this  ontell 
we've  made  it  up  with  God." 

"Well,  Brother  Ivry,  thar  was  some  confesh- 
uns  made  at  that  sarvis.  Some  got  raly  happy. 
Ebenezer  Price's  boy  v^as  convarted.  The  news 
spread,  and  when  the  last  day  of  the  meetin'  come, 
the  church  couldn't  hold  all  the  people.  Thar 
was  twenty  jiners  at  the  meetin',  and  I  am  glad. 
You  know  I  am." 

Bildad  writes  for  half  a  page  about  neighbor 
hood  affairs,  which  I  omit.  I  must  reproduce, 
though,  what  he  writes  about  his  preacher. 

"Our  last  quarterly  will  be  helt  next  week.  I 
dont  know  how  we're  goin'  to  come  out.  Old 
Ebenezer  has  paid  out  in  full.  This  is  the  fust 
year  I  haint  had  to  dubble  my  sessment  to  pull 
the  church  throo.  A  good  meetin'  holps  a  stew- 
art  more  in  clectin'  the  church  dews'  than  all  the 
fifteen  sent  cotton  in  the  world.  Hard  times  in 
the  hart  and  not  in  the  craps  is  what  makes  scant 
'elections.  I've  lived  many  a  year  in  these  dig- 
gin's,  but  I've  never  saw  sich  hard  times  that  a 
good  meetin'  couldn't  pull  preecher  and  peeple 
throo." 

"I  love  my  preecher.  I  dont  know  whether 
he's  comin'  back  to  us  or  not.  I  have  an  idee 


96  BIUDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

that  he  would  do  jest  the  kind  of  work  that 
is  needed  on  a  sartin  big  stashun  I  know  of.  He 
needs  more  range  for  his  gun.  It  seems  to  me 
that  it's  mighty  hard  for  feeld  hand  preechers 
to  brake  into  high  places,  and  arter  a  high  place 
preecher  has  roosted  high  for  a  while  its  mighty 
hard  to  get  the  Cabbynet  to  get  him  off.  Now, 
I've  got  a  good  noshun  to  go  to  Rocky  Mount 
and  see  Bishop  Willson  and  tell  him  that  old 
Bildad  Akers  thinks  that  more  of  our  men  in 
the  woods  should  have  a  chance  in  the  clearins'. 
Ef  more  of  our  men  in  the  woods  was  to  swap 
with  men  in  the  clearin's,the  clearin'  peeple  would 
have  better  preechin'  and  the  woods  peeple  would 
have  better  preechin'.  Now,  Brother  Ivry,  you 
would  call  this  a  parryfox,  but  it  has  a  site  of 
truth  in  it.  I  think  thar  ort  to  be  a  mighty  shuf- 
flin'  round.  They  got  David  from  the  sheepfold." 
But  my  space  has  run  short  and  I  must  for 
bear,  with  the  invitation  to  Bildad  to  write 
again.  If  I  cannot  publish  his  whole  letter,  I  will, 
at  least,  notice  parts  of  it  on  the  first  page  of  the 
paper. 


BILDAD  GOES  TO  COMMENCEMENT. 


"Well,  son,  Proverdence  is  tryin'  the  grit  of  we  pore 
farmers  these  days.  Craps  is  backard,  mighty  backard. 
When  I  think  about  it,  tho,  I  jest  plunk  down  my 
thoughts  on  all  the  forrerd  yeers  we  have  had,  and  thank 
Ole  Marster  that  thar  are  more  to  come." — BittCad  Akers. 


r  CHAPTER  IX. 

There  are  some  little  sections  in  Bildad  Akers' 
nature  which  I  have  never  been  able  to  explore. 
He  is  not  a  credulous  being.  No  one  is  so  quick 
as  he  to  detect  the  false  note  in  another.  Yet 
Bildad  is  deluded  into  believing  that  his  spelling 
is  at  par.  He  claims  no  special  knowledge  of 
grammar,  but  he  does  not  relish  an  adverse  crit 
icism  of  his  spelling. 

An  old-fashioned  personality,  even  boasting 
at  times  of  moss,  he  manages  to  have  a  modern 
outlook  on  life.  He  is  a  lively  number  in  a  de 
corous  way  among  the  boys.  Yet  this  question 
comes  in  to  perplex  me :  Why  does  Bildad,  with 
his  high  appreciation  of  epistolary  experience, 
persist  in  using  an  old  goose  quill,  mere  scraps 
of  paper,  and  the  palest  of  pale  ink,  when  he 
writes  to  the  Advocate?  His  letters,  written  on 
stationery  of  divers  hues  and  sizes  and  shapes, 
shame  even  Professor  Teufelsdrockh. 

It  is  a  labor  to  decipher  his  cryptographic 
handwriting.  I  do  not  publish  his  letters  exactly 
as  they  are  received  and  written.  The  best  I  can 
do  is  to  string  their  fragments  together  on  a  kind 
of  editorial  string. 

This  I  do  with  his  last  letter  received  a  few 


IOO  BILDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

days  ago.  He  begins  by  apologizing  for  his  long 
silence,  saying  that  it  is  the  first  letter  he  has 
"writ  sence  Confear-ance."  He  alludes  in  a  rem- 
iniscential  way  to  certain  experiences  at  Rocky 
Mount,  not  forgetting  to  mention  the  few  votes 
which  he  received  for  the  editorship.  Bildad 
actually  rolls  that  memory  as  a  "sweet  morsel 
under  his  tongue."  Well,  so  be  it.  If  we  were 
to  see  things  as  they  really  are,  a  great  deal  of 
life's  glamour  would  be  gone.  Let  memory  have 
her  fads  and  follies.  The  stern  things  that  are 
suffice  to  drive  away  the  ultra-sentimental  which 
truly  deceives  and  weakens. 

What  Bildad  has  to  say  in  connection  with  the 
subject  of  the  weather  is  really  pertinent  and 
practical.  What  more  practical  subject  could  be 
discussed  just  now  ?  It  is  refreshing  to  note  that 
his  words  have  no  pessimistic  ring,  as  is  evident 
in  the  following  extract: 

"Well,  son,  Proverdence  is  tryin'  the  grit  of 
we  pore  farmers  these  days.  Craps  is  backard, 
mighty  backard.  Corn,  cotton  and  sich  looks  the 
same  to  me  as  pore  leetle  childern  which  is  tryin' 
to  keep  from  bein  hongry  and  cold.  When  I 
think  about  it,  tho,  I  jest  plunk  my  thoughts 
down  on  all  the  forrerd  yeers  we  have  had,  and 
thank  ole  Marster  that  thar  are  more  to  come. 
Last  yeer  was  the  forrerdest  yeer,  to  be  shore." 


BILDAD   ATTENDS   COMMENCEMENT.          IOI 

"I  was  jest  come  in  from  drappin'  corn  tother 
day  and  was  settin'  on  a  log  nigh  the  spring 
when  ole  Peter  McGillis  come  from  his  pastur. 
He  sot  down  side  o'  me  and  I  seed  at  once  that 
he  was  in  the  dumps.  His  lights,  I  know,  was 
as  blew  as  a  huckleberry.  The  blew  run  in 
streeks  thru  his  tawk.  If  a  sanktyfied  Methdist 
Stewart  ever  come  nigh  to  cussin'  the  weather, 
Pete  was  the  feller.  I  tole  him  he  had  orter  be 
shamed  of  himself.  I  axed  him  ef  he  had  ever 
starved  to  death.  He  almost  wanted  to  make 
me  believe  he  had  on  severial  casions  enjide  that 
speriunce  but  I  knowed  better.  I  axed  him  ef 
he  had  ever  seed  a  yeer  without  some  kind  o' 
craps?  He  got  to  tawkin  about  1816,  and  I  tole 
him  he  hadn't  never  seed  that  yeer.  I  said,  'Pete 
you  ole  graspin'  skin-flint,  you  had  orter  to  be 
shamed  of  yerself.  You're  one  of  the  stripe 
which  God  has  been  so  good  to  that  they  want 
to  take  all  that  He  is  got  and  more.  You  are 
like  a  hog  who  chomps  his  corn  all  rite  as  long 
as  the  yeers  are  throwed  to  him,  but  ef  he  has 
to  wait  a  leetle,  why  then  he  hollers.  Why,  Pete, 
you  hev  got  the  same  kind  of  faith  as  a  hog. 
Can't  you  trust  in  Proverdence  enough  to  believe 
that  the  corn'll  be  throwed  in  good  time.  Cheer 
up,  ole  man,  and  go  to  work  like  me.  This  is 


IO2  BIU3AD  AKERS  :  HIS  BOOK. 

the  third  time  I've  drapped  this  corn.  I'm  goin' 
to  do  my  part,  and  I  jest  know  that  Proverdence 
will  do  his'n." 

"No,  brother,"  Bildad  continued,  "its  goin'  to 
take  a  sight  more'n  onlikely  wether  to  turn  my 
lites  blew  and  make  me  slip  my  hold  on  God." 

"I  allers  fout  the  idee  of  our  Sundy-scool 
shettin'  up  arter  the  big  meetin'  in  the  fall  and 
not  openin'  ontell  spring,  or  jest  afore  the  sum 
mer  meetin's.  But  it  dont  do  no  good.  The  su- 
perintender  is  allers  agin  me.  He  sez  evergreen 
scools  is  all  right  when  peeple  is  used  to  havin' 
of  'em,  but  they  never  knowed  sich  a  thing  at 
our  meetin'  house,  and  its  bad  to  have  a  suddent 
change.  It's  nothin'  but  Simon-pure  laziness  and 
no  countness  with  our  scool  as  I'll  show  you. 

You  know  them  hot  days  in  March?  Well,  it 
was  sartinly  sizzlin'  for  the  sholeder  of  the  yeer 
down  in  these  parts.  The  trees  begun  to  bud, 
and  the  gals  put  on  their  white  frocks,  and  Ike 
Smith  got  out  his  straw  hat  which  he  bawt  in 
Roily  endurin'  the  Fusion  Campane.  It  did  look 
like  summer  time,  and  afore  I  knowed  it,  they 
had  lowed  it  was  time  to  start  Sunday-scool  agin. 
They  helt  scool  two  Sundys,  and  I  had  got 
a  peart  class.  Well,  the  next  Sundy  was  cold 
and  drizzly,  then  come  them  frosty  nights,  and 


BILDAD  ATTENDS   COMMENCEMENT.  103 

shore  as  guns  iurn,  the  very  next  Sundy  they 
lowed  they  had  tempted  Proverdence  by  startin' 
the  scool  afore  its  time,  an  they  tuk  a  vote  not 
to  start  the  scool  ontell  they  could  have  rale  ole 
summer  weather.  Did  you  ever  hear  tell  o'  sich 
doins'?  Hbw  is  ole  Marster  goin'  to  bless  sich 
hardheaded,  lazy,  no-count  passel  of  Sunday- 
scoolers?  Tother  day,  a  thinkin'  bout  it,  I  jest 
made  up  my  mind  that  scool  is  goin'  to  run  all 
next  winter  ef  I've  got  to  tromp  snow  every 
Sundy." 

It  was  no  surprise  to  me  when  I  learned  that 
Bildad  had  attended  the  commencement  of  Trin 
ity  College.  He  feels  a  deep  interest  in  his 
church  and  her  every  enterprise  and  institution. 
He  writes  as  follows: 

"Lizy  got  to  rarin'  last  Mondy  when  she  seed 
me  workin'  with  my  ole  carpet  bag,  and  a  dustin' 
up  in  gineral;  fer  I  sed  to  her,  'Lizy,  I'm  goin' 
to  the  exbition  at  Trinity  College.  I  believe  they 
call  'em  Commencements.'  She  allowed  I'd  be 
a  purty  sight  up  thar  among  them  big  bugs." 

"But  I  said,  'Lizy,  Trinity  scool  is  an  insti- 
tooshun  of  my  church.  I  aint  no  bennyfactur,  I 
aint  no  trusty,  but  that  scool  belongs  to  me  as 
much  as  to  any  of  them  fellers.  I  aint  got  no 
use  for  any  Methdist  which  dont  show  no  in- 


IO4  BILDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

trust  in  his  own  property,  and  I'm  agwine  to 
Durham  to  see  what  they  are  doinV  "  , 

"But  I  went  and  I  aint  sorry  a  bit.  They  treat 
ed  me  like  I  was  a  shore  enuff  benny  factor  or  a 
trusty  or  some  feller  from  the  north.  I  enjide 
evry  minit  I  was  thar.  I  kept  my  eyes  skinned, 
too.  I  seed  everything  run  as  smooth  as  an 
otter  slide.  One  man  of  them  fellers  of  the 
teachin'  squod  tended  to  one  thing  and  another 
tended  to  another.  There  wasn't  no  hitch. 
They've  got  the  properest  congregations  you 
ever  seed.  One  night  them  electrissity  lites 
blowed  out  and  everything  was  as  black  as  a 
swamp  at  midnight.  But  the  meetin'  went  right 
on.  They  didn't  strike  no  matches  and  it  peared 
as  ef  the  people  was  shamed  even  to  breathe  out 
loud.  Then  when  Jedge  Bruin  was  makin'  his 
speech  he  spoke  so  low  that  them  that  was  settin' 
in  the  rare  eend  couldn't  hear.  But  they  did'nt 
get  onrestless,  but  sot  with  their  eyes  glued  on  the 
Jedge." 

"I  was  mighty  glad  to  hear  Mr.  Eastgit,  the 
head  of  the  trustys,  tell  of  the  number  of  pore 
boys  the  college  is  holpin'.  The  college  has  giv 
away  $30,000  in  eddication  in  the  last  ten  years. 
I  was  mighty  glad  to  meet  Mr.  Eastgit.  They 
say  he's  got  a  kind  of  bunkin  place  all  by  hisself 


BILDAD   ATTENDS   COMMENCEMENT.          IO5 

near  his  town.  Now,  I  call  that  a  sizzlin  shame. 
Why  don't  he  git  married  and  carry  some  good 
oman  thar  to  his  house  in  the  woods.  I  saw 
the  Preserdent.  He  joked  me  like  I  was  a  kid, 
and  there  aint  nothin'  hifalutin'  about  him.  What 
I  seed  showed  me  that  he  was  tendin'  to  his  patch 
mighty  well." 

"I  hearn  the  boys  speak.  I  noticed  that  when  I 
would  meet  one  on  the  scool  yard  he  would  raise 
his  hat  to  me.  It  made  me  feel  like  they  was 
trained  right.  But  I  tell  you,  I  didn't  like  them 
pigeon  taled  cotes  they  wore  in  the  pulpitt  they 
spoke  from.  Sumhow  it  didn't  jest  set  rite  in 
my  mind.  I've  seed  em  before  and  it  always 
make  me  think  that  them  that  wears  'em  has 
been  raned  on.  Did  you  ever  see  a  rooster  in  the 
rane?  Sich  fixins  is  too  new  for  Bildad  Akers." 

A  good  deal  more  followed  about  the  Com 
mencement.  Bildad  was  evidently  enthusiastic 
over  what  he  saw  at  the  "scool."  He  is  a  strong 
believer  in  his  College,  and  wants  every  "stew- 
art"  to  go  and  see  for  himself. 

But  I  will  have  to  dismiss  for  the  present  our 
old  philosopher  in  the  hope  that  soon  we  may 
have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  his  face  in  the  office. 


AN  OCTOBER  LETTER. 


"You  preechers  tawk  a  heap  'bout  stringin'  your  fish 
as  soon  as  you  ketch  'em,  but  what's  the  good  of  stringin' 
'em  onless  you  kin  tote  'em  home  and  use  'em?" — Bildad 
Akers. 


CHAPTER  X. 

The  other  day  I  fell  into  a  train  of  thought 
which  came  to  a  dead-stop  in  the  face  of  the 
wondering  why  I  had  neither  seen  nor  heard  from 
Bildad  Akers  in  such  a  long  time.  It  was  not 
long  before  there  lay  on  my  desk  the  following 
letter,  reproduced  just  as  it  was  written,  with  the 
exception  of  a  few  changes  in  spelling  and  punc 
tuation  : 

OCKTOBER  IN   THE  YEER  OF  THE  LORD. 

Roily,  N.  C.  Deer  Brother 

A  cupple  of  weeks  sence  I  was  settin'  on  the 
back  steps  a'  readin'  of  the  Advocate  when  I 
come  to  Brother  Tomas's  poum.  I  read  it  thru 
and  thru,  and  then  thru  agin.  I  called  Lizy  and 
I  says,  "Lizy,  here's  potry  what  is  potry.  Ole 
Brother  Tomas  has  got  a  hart  in  him.  I  dont 
like  his  meeter  and  some  of  his  words,  but  he 
drives  at  a  pint  which  are  intrustin'  to  ev'ry  stew- 
art  which  I  have  been  endeavorin'  to  be  in  the 
sight  of  Ole  Marster  and  men  fer  nigh  on  to 
menny  years."  Lizy  says,  "Good  sakes,  man, 
what  are  you  drivin'  at?"  I  says,  "Lizy,  this 
poum  means  doin'  sumthin'  fer  the  preecher — 
sendin'  him  to  Jeemstown  exhibishun.  Yes, 
Brother  Tomas  is  a  poet  which  will  do  to  stand 


IIO  BILDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

up  against.  This  Sharlit  Observer  caint  set  up 
any  of  its  poums  ferninst  it  in  a  thousand  yeer 
or  less,  or  perhaps  more,  jest  as  you  take  it." 

Well,  in  less'n  a  leetle  I  had  saw  some  of  the 
white  sheep  of  our  preech'rs  flock  and  I  hed 
drawd  enuff  money  to  send  our  preecher  to 
Jeemstown,  and,  as  I  felt  that  wad  in  my  breast 
pocket,  I  said  to  myself — 'Bildad,  it  was  dead 
eesy."  Why  in  the  name  of  all  which  consarns 
preechers  and  sich  doesn't  all  the  peeple  in  the 
Confearance  do  the  same  by  their  preecher  ?  This 
wad  felt  as  good  as  that  plaster  when  Lizy  was 
a  drawin'  the  pane  out  o'  my  chist  last  winter. 

The  comin'  Saddy  when  the  hands  had  nocked 
off  work  and  I  was  settin'  on  the  porch  readin' 
the  Advocate,  I  seed  our  preecher  drivin'  up  the 
lane.  I  let  him  lite  afore  I  moved  from  my 
cheer.  Then  I  went  out  and  said,  "Wont  you 
lite?"  He  sed  I  am  alreddy  lit.  I  laffed  and 
sed,  "so  ye  air."  By  this  time  he  had  unhooked. 
I  never  did  like  to  see  a  preecher  stand  by  and 
see  a  mail  or  feemail  lovin'  brother  hook  up  or 
unhook  his  own  crittur — that  is  which  I  mean 
to  say — the  preecher's  crittur.  I  member  once 
we  had  a  preecher  who  the  fust  time  he  come  to 
see  me  stood  by  and  seed  me  unhook  his  little 
sheep  of  a  critter  while  he  stood  by  and  looked 


AN  OCTOBER  LETTER.  Ill 

lite  a  lord  or  some  kind  or  a  captin'  jest  like  I 
who  was  goin'  to  feed  him  and  bed  him  fer  the 
night  was  paid  to  do  the  hookin'.  I  said  to  Lizy 
arter  we  had  went  to  bed  that  night,  "Lizy,  that 
new  preecher  is  simply  goin'  to  pop  caps  en- 
durin'  this  yeer.  He's  not  goin'  to  do  any  rale 
shootin'."  "Why,"  says  Lizy.  "Bekase,"  I  says, 
"he  hasn't  got  gumpshun  enuff  to  lode  his  gun." 
Well,  I  was  right.  That  preecher  calc'lated  afore 
the  eend  of  the  year  that  he  would  stop  preechin' 
and  go  off  to  some  furrin  skool. 

But  I  am  off  the  track,  as  Sim  Smith  said 
when  he  run  up  one  night  ferninst  a  skunk  den. 
Our  preecher  which  now  is  aint  that  sort  of  a 
man.  He  aint  above  waitin'  on  hisself  and  he 
don't  low  peeple  to  make  compny  of  him.  He 
jest  sails  right  in  and  takes  charge  of  the  prem 
ises.  That's  why  I  like  him  and  stand  by  him, 
which  is  to  say  this  is  one  of  the  reasons  among 
his  many  good  pints. 

I  said,  Bud,  go  in.  Thar's  some  lie  sope  out 
at  the  well  ef  you  want  to  wash  yourself,  and  I 
speck  you  do.  Then  I  went  to  Lizy  and  tole 
her  to  nock  up  sum  grub  fer  supper,  the  preecher 
had  come.  I  told  her  she  needn't  fix  a  weddin' 
spred.  The  preecher  wasn't  used  to  it  at  home 
and  I  have  knowed  many  a  preecher  to  spile  a 


112  BILDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

sarmont  fer  the  next  day  by  eatin'  too  many 
good  vittels  on  Saddy  night  away  from  home.  I 
knowed  a  preecher  to  brake  up  a  pertracted  meet- 
in'  to  begin  on  Sunday  by  eetin'  of  a  whole 
chickin  the  night  afore.  So,  I  says,  Lizy,  dont 
spred  yourself.  Lizy  lowed  she  knowd  what  she 
were  doin'.  I  never  have  got  Lizy  so  she  wont 
jaw  back.  He  didn't  eet  so  harty,  but  I  seed  it 
was  bekase  he  wasn't  so  peart  as  common,  tho 
I'm  not  sayin'  that  he  was  porely.  But  I  didn't 
much  him  enny  to  get  him  to  feed.  You  see 
some  peeple  have  got  a  way  of  muchin'  a  preech 
er  at  the  table  to  get  him  to  eat  jest  like  you 
much  a  dawg.  The  best  plan  is  to  let  one  have 
the  whole  trawf  and  then  eat  or  not  eat  without 
any  words  of  mine.  Ole  sister  Simpson  once 
nigh  kilt  a  preecher  by  makin'  him  drink  four 
tumblers  of  buttermilk,  just  cherned,  when  any 
Christian  ort  to  have  knowd  that  one  tumbler  was 
enuff  for  a  man  that  had  dispepsy.  Now  Tom 
Buston  can  chamber  a  whole  quart  of  sweet  or 
sour  milk,  for  he  haint  got  neither  stummick  or 
conshuns.  But  don't  much  a  man  at  your  own 
table  to  git  him  to  eat  harty. 

I  seed  arter  supper  that  the  preecher  had  the 
blews.  Now  the  blews  with  a  preecher  is  wuss'n 
the  meesuls — that  is  fer  his  peeple.  How  he 


AN  OCTOBER  LETTER.  113 

kin  go  from  Jineary  to  Jineary,  lookin'  and  feelin' 
like  he  was  at  a  buryin',  and  keep  his  flock  from 
goin'  to  peaces  like  a  gang  of  bull  yearlins  whar 
there  is  yaller  jackits  is  mor'n  I  can  tell.  So  I 
felt  a  pitty  like  fer  the  preecher  when  I  seed  he 
was  down  in  the  mouth  and  I  tride  to  find  out 
whar  the  mizry  were. 

One  thing  I  found  out,  was  when  he  got  to 
tawkin'  about  the  meetin'  he  had  jest  helt.  He 
says,  "Brother  Akers,  we  tuk  in  a  big  class  and 
the  peeple  seemed  so  pushed  up  and  zellus.  But 
last  preechin'  day  there  wasn't  as  many  as  com 
mon.  I  thought  shorely  thar'd  be  more.  Why, 
not  one-half  the  convarts  was  thar."  I  looked 
round  to  see  ef  Lizy  was  still  a'  reddin  things 
up  in  the  kitchin.  I  never  like  to  critersize  things 
when  she  is  around,  but  the  time  had  come  fer  me 
to  open  my  mind  even  ef  it  wouldn't  pull  the 
preecher  up  frum  way  down  in  his  mouth.  I 
says,  bruther,  I  think  you  are  a  leetle  to  blame 
fer  all  of  this.  As  shore's  you're  born  you 
preeched  endurin'  the  meetin'  jest  like  peeple 
should  be  convarted  to  have  a  good  time  escapin' 
hell  and  rejoicin'  in  havin'  their  sins  fergiven. 
When  you  tuk  the  convarts  in  you  went  thru  it 
as  fast  as  Pete  Bunn  rattles  thru  the  town  streets 
jest  to  show  off  them  fine  mewls  of  his'n.  Them 
8 


114  BIIvDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

convarts  went  from  that  meetin'  with  the  idee 
that  they  had  escaped  hell  and  all  they  was  to  do 
was  to  wait  for  the  jumpin'  off  time  when  they 
would  land  rite  in  Heaven  with  a  crown  on  'em. 
Why  didn't  you  make  that  takin'  into  the  church 
sarvice  the  longest  and  best  sarvice  of  all  and 
explain  that  sence  God  had  fergiven  their  sins, 
and  they  had  jined  the  church,  it  was  on  purpose 
to  make  'em  more  useful  to  the  church  and  the 
world.  Them  jiners  was  jest  spilin'  for  the  rite 
kind  of  preachin'  when  they  was  tuk  in.  Them 
gineral  rules  and  vows  ort  to  hav  tuk  an  hour  or 
so  in  explaining  but  here  you  went,  as  I  said, 
like  Pete  Bunn  and  his  mewls,  and  them  jiners — 
some  of  em — are  wonderin'  now  what  they  ever 
jined  fer.  You  preechers  have  got  to  preech 
more  that  relijun  is  not  so  much  enjiment  and  a 
roarin'  big  time  as  it  is  tryin'  to  do  good  and  help 
other  peeple.  Thar's  ole  Pink  Beasly  who  is  the 
selfishest  old  critter  in  these  diggin's,  and  he 
never  darkens  the  door  of  a  church.  But  he's 
no  wuss  than  a  church  member  whose  only  idee 
of  relijun  is  that  it  is  to  make  him  feel  good  and 
shout  and  lay  on  the  bosom  of  his  Saviour.  Ole 
Pink  and  this  kind  of  a  perfesser  should  be  tied 
together  and  preeched  to  a  whole  week  on  the 
sin  of  selfishness.  You  preechers  tawk  a  heap 


AN  OCTOBER  LETTER.  1 15 

bout  stringin'  your  fish  as  soon  as  you  ketch  em, 
but  what's  the  good  of  stringin'  'em  onless  you 
kin  tote  'em  home  and  use  'em?  Yes,  Bud,  you 
have  got  to  teech  your  peeple  more  what  relijun 
is,  and  then  you  won't  have  so  much  trubble  be 
tween  your  big  meetin's.  The  preecher  lowed  I 
was  rite  and  said  he  thanked  me. 

But  the  preecher  wasn't  out  of  his  blews.  I 
seed  he  was  still  bothered.  He  tole  me  bout 
bein'  up  at  Roily  mindin'  his  own  bizness,  and 
then  he  stopped  and  said,  "Brother  Akers,  why 
is  it  I  caint  go  anywhar  without  bein'  looked 
at  and  tawked  about  as  a  preecher.  They  spot 
me  ev'ry  time  as  a  preecher,  even  when  I  don't 
say  a  word,  but  jest  wawk  along  the  street.  I 
am  not  ashamed  at  tall  of  bein'  a  preecher,  but 
it  kinder  riles  me  to  have  'em  spot  me  every  time. 
I  want  'em  to  know  I'm  a  preecher  by  what  I  do 
and  say,  and  not  by  how  I  look.  What  is  there 
bout  me  to  tell  a  man  who  never  seed  me  or 
hearn  tell  of  me  afore  to  glue  his  eyes  upon  me 
and  say,  "Thar  goes  a  blamed  preecher?" 

Well,  I  jest  laffed  and  laffed  when  the  preecher 
out  with  this,  and  I  called  Lizy  out  to  laff  with 
me.  I  sed,  Brother,  you  are  in  a  bad  way  when 
you  are  so  upsot  by  what  strangers  say  and 
think.  I'm  glad  you  don't  mind  bein'  knowd  as 


Il6  BILDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

a  preecher,  and  are  proud  of  it.  But  you  struck 
the  nail  on  the  head  when  you  sed  you  want 
peeple  to  know  you  are  a  preecher  by  your  life 
and  not  by  your  looks.  I'm  afeared,  Brother, 
you  preechers  are  too  preecherfied.  You  wawk 
like  it,  you  look  like  it,  you  dress  like  it.  A 
preecher  is  only  a  man,  and  ef  he  does  much 
with  men,  he's  got  to  show  em  he's  of  the  same 
breed.  Ef  they  git  the  idee  that  he's  a  cross 
betwixt  a  mail  and  a  femail  pusson  he's  gone  as 
fer  as  his  usefulness  is  consarned.  Thar's  no 
sence  in  a  preecher  wearin'  the  graveyard  look 
and  that  femail  meekness.  Then  why  in  the 
name  of  common  sence  do  you  wear  that  westcut 
buttoned  up  to  your  neck  or  that  preecher  coat 
when  you  air  out  amongst  men  ?  I  like  to  see  a 
preecher  drest  a  sartain  way  when  he  is  in  the 
pulpit  loft,  but  out  of  the  pulpit  loft  he  should 
dress  like  tother  men — scusin'  the  time  when  some 
of  'em  wear  them  things  they  call  full  dress.  I 
never  seed  a  man  in  one  of  'em  that  he  didn't 
look  like  a  rooster  jest  come  in  out  of  the  rain. 
A  preecher  in  a  spike-tale!  If  you  have  been 
indulgin'  in  sich  you  have  cause  to  feel  blew. 
Be  like  other  men  in  look  and  walk  and  dress. 
Thar's  George  Smitt,  one  of  the  best  preechers 
in  Ihe  land.  When  George  is  out  on  the  streets 


AN  OCTOBER  LETTER.  117 

they  take  him  fer  ennything  from  a  prise  fiter  to 
a  Guvnor.     He's  my  idee. 

Brother  Ivry,  I  tawked  to  our  preecher  tell 
nigh  onto  midnight.  I  haint  room  to  tell  you 
all  he  said  and  I  said.  But  ef  I  didn't  git  him 
out  of  the  dumps  by  what  I  said,  I  done  the  work 
when  I  pulled  the  wad  out  o'  my  pocket  and  tole 
him  his  peeple  wanted  him  to  go  to  Jeemstown. 
I  am  ever  in  truth 

In  the  blume  of  yooth, 

BILDAD  AKERS. 

You  haint  had  no  sirkus  up  to  Roily  yet.  I 
never  tend  'em,  but  I  like  to  be  in  Roily  on  that 
day  to  see  the  perade  and  heer  the  steam  pianny. 
I  am  gittin'  ready  to  go  to  Confearance. 


BILDAD  AKERS  AT  THE  ANNUAL  CON 
FERENCE. 


"That  Laymun's  meetin'  means  that  the  laymun  is 
edgin'  down  toards  the  big  eend  of  the  lawg  and  givin' 
the  preecher  a  longer  hanspike." — Bildad  Akers. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

"Is  Editor  Ivry  in  here  ?"  were  the  almost  gruff 
words  that  came  rumbling  into  the  inner  office 
and  smote  the  ears  of  the  editor  as  he  sat  at  his 
desk  recording  sundry  changes  in  the  Quarterly 
Conference  dates  as  ordered  by  the  Presiding 
Elders. 

The  reply  of  the  clerk  in  the  outer  office  was 
indistinct,  but  not  so  the  rejoinder  of  the  ques 
tioner,  who  positively  avowed  that  he  would  "see 
Editor  Ivry,  busy  or  no  busy." 

Before  the  editor  had  time  to  rise  and  go  out 
to  greet  the  one  whom  he  knew  at  once  to  be  his 
old  friend,  Bildad  Akers,  this  privileged  indi 
vidual  had  swept  the  pile  of  morning  papers 
from  the  couch  reserved  for  weary  Methodist 
saints  and  had  sat  down,  after  hanging  his  hat 
on  the  projecting  electric  light  globe.  Bildad 
Akers  is  one  not  given  much  to  shaking  hands, 
an  art  which  should  be  cultivated  by  every  one. 

"You're  as  hot  in  here  as  a  brick  kill,"  said 
Bildad. 

The  explanation  was  made  that  the  limited  di 
mensions  of  the  office  make  it  very  easy  to  over 
heat  the  atmosphere. 

Bildad  rushed  to  the  window  and  raised  the 


122  BIU>AD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

sash,  and  the  arctic  air  gushed  in,  to  the  evident 
delight  of  the  visitor,  who  made  an  inconse 
quential  remark  about  these  "city  fellers  not 
knowin'  what  good  healthy  arr  air." 

Of  course,  the  usual  preliminary  social  passes 
were  made,  and  the  editor  advanced  to  the  sub 
ject  which  was  interesting  to  him  then — Bildad's 
visit  to  the  Annual  Conference.  The  mention 
of  the  subject  brought  an  increment  of  anima 
tion,  to  his  face  and  voice. 

"Yes,"  he  suid,  after  emptying  his  coat  pocket 
of  an  encumbrance  in  the  shape  of  a  pint  of  cot 
ton  seed  which  he  scattered  over  the  rug,  "I 
promussed  to  write  you  a  letter,  but  I  lowed  sence 
I  had  to  come  up  to  the  Federul  cote,  I  mout  as 
well  drap  inN  and  tell  you  in  pusson  about  my 
idees  of  Confear-ance.  But  you  must  ax  me 
bout  things.  I've  talked  so  much  to  Lizy  and 
the  nabors  about  my  sperunce  at  New  Bern  that 
my  idees  has  got  all  tangled  up  like  cuckley  burs 
in  old  Sim  Galoosh's  cow's  tail." 

"Well,  Brother  Akers,  did  I  treat  you  white 
down  there?" 

A  kind  of  apologetic  look  broke  over  Bildad's 
face  as  he  said:  "Ivry,  Lizy  was  so  scairt  that 
I  would  go  down  thar  and  make  a  fool  of  my 
self  and  talked  so  much  about  wearin'  the  right 


ANNUAL  CONFEiREjNCE.  1^3 

kind  of  collers,  neckerchies,  and  sich  duds,  and 
'bout  eatin'  and  sleepin'  and  talkin',  that  I  got 
gumflustered  and  writ  you  that  little  note  in  the 
Advocate  bout  havin'  you  to  tie  on  to  and  sich. 
Bout  the  fust  pusson  I  seed  when  I  struck  New 
Bern  dirt  was  my  ole  friend  George  Smitt,  who 
I  lowed  had  forgot  me.  He  seemed  as  glad  to 
see  me  as  a  hoss  is  to  eat  green  grass.  George 
was  onusally  clever  all  thru.  Yes,  I'm  much 
obleeged  to  you.  You  give  me  some  good  idees 
and  pinted  out  and  interduced  me  to  a  likely 
passel  of  people.  Bob  Phillups  done  himself 
proud  by  me  and  had  me  set  in  his  offus  a  cupple 
o'  times.  Hie  was  in  that  singin'  gang  and  axed 
me  up  thar  in  that  pen  ferninst  the  organ,  but  I 
didn't  want  to  make  a  fool  o'  myself.  That  gang 
sartinly  kin  sing."  % 

"You  axed  me  how  I  liked  New  Bern.  Now, 
I  aint  a  jedge  of  *seafarin'  towns,  but  New  Bern 
is  a  purty  town  in  the  day  time  'ceptin'  thar  is 
too  much  of  a  smell  of  yoisters  and  sich  truck 
down  on  the  water.  I  low  them  people  is  used 
to  the  smell.  The  people  was  sartainly  kind  and 
hospittable.  They  make  a  heap  of  a  feller  when 
he  comes  and  goes,  and,  twixt  the  two,  I  had  a 
site  of  invites.  I  et  tell  I  was  shamed  of  myself, 
and  I  know  Lizy  would  have  said  I  tawked  too 


124  BILDAD  AKERS  :  HIS  BOOK. 

much  with  my  mouth.  They  axed  me  a  heap 
about  myself.  I  didn't  know  so  many  was  in 
trusted  in  my  letters  to  the  Advocate.  One  man 
axed  me  whar  I  larned  to  spell.  He  peared  to 
be  throwin'  off  on  me  and  I  tole  him  I  was 
larnin'  the  dawg  latin  at  the  eend  of  the  book 
afore  he  had  got  to  Baker,  and  it  'ud  take  a 
hunderd  of  him  to  make  one  Danuel  Webster — 
or  Noehy,  which  is  it?  I  disremember." 

"I  were  glad  to  meet  Brother  Beeman.  They 
say  he  cuts  a  hefty  swoth  when  he  preeches." 

"You  see  I  didn't  hike  down  to  New  Bern 
jest  fer  the  fun  o'  the  thing.  I  had  larnin'  in 
view.  I  had  been  to  the  quarterlies  and  dees- 
tricts,  and  you  know  I  went  to  the  gineral,  which 
was  a  cuckly  bur  affair  when  it  come  to  gittin' 
the  heads  and  tails  of  it.  But  I  wanted  to  see 
an  Annual  agin.  I  seed  it  and  I  aint  sorry.  I 
larned  sights  and  the  nabors  come  yit  to  git  me 
to  tell  about  it." 

"I  could  sence  the  meanin'  o'  them  preechers 
as  they  stood  on  their  feet  and  tole  what  they 
had  did  endurin'  the  yeer.  I  felt  like  shoutin' 
out  in  meetin'  like  old  sister  Bullikins  when  them 
preechers  spoke  about  havin'  so  many  good  meet- 
in's.  I  had  hearn  tell  bout  Bishups  puttin'  on 
the  screws  and  squeezin'  out  o'  the  preecher 


THE  ANNUAL  CONFERENCE.  12$ 

what  he  knowed  bout  liftin'  c'lections  and  sich, 
but  I  didn't  hear  no  sich  tawk  from  Bishop  Gal- 
lerway.  I  was  supprised  a  site  in  him.  He 
jest  seemed  like  one  of  the  preechers.  He  didn't 
tawk  or  look  or  act  biggoty  a  bit.  I  spected  him 
to  storm  like  blue  blazes  at  times,  but  he  was  as 
kind  and  gentel  all  the  time  as  ef  he  wasn't  a 
Bishup.  I  hearn  him  preach  a  Sunday  and  I 
jest  know  ef  ole  sister  Bullikins  had  been  thar 
she  would  have  histed  the  ruff.  You  give  me  a 
knock-down  to  him,  and  he  sed  he  knowd  me 
allreddy.  When  I  tole  Lizy  that,  she  said  it  don't 
take  much  sense  to  be  knowd  by  furriners,  and 
that  I  knowd  Jim  Branch's  hawg  that  was  allers 
breakin'  into  other  people's  patches  better  than 
I  knowd  my  own  hawgs.  What  you  reckon  she 
were  pintin'  at?" 

At  this  juncture  Bildad  remarked  that  it  was 
"sprizin'  how  hot  these  offusses  git,"  and  unbut 
toned  his  vest.  The  raising  of  a  window  in  the 
outer  office  allowed  a  current  of  cold  air  to  join 
the  gush  which  came  through  the  window  of  the 
office  in  which  we  were  sitting,  and  Bildad  was 
more  comfortable. 

"Outside  of  the  Conference  sessions,  what  most 
impressed  you?"  was  the  editor's  question. 


126  BILBAO  AKERS :  HIS  BOOK. 

"What  most  which?"  said  Bildad.  "See  here, 
Ivry,  you  mus  use  plain  language." 

The  form  of  the  question  was  changed,  and 
Bildad  proceeded  to  say  that  he  was  very  much 
"intrusted  in  the  Laymun's  meetin'  and  the  Jint 
Board  of  Finances." 

"That  Laymun's  meetin',"  he  said,  "means  that 
the  laymun  is  edgin'  down  toards  the  big  eend 
of  the  lawg  and  givin'  the  preecher  a  longer 
hanspike.  The  preechers  has  had  the  big  eend 
all  the  time  and  a  short  hanspike — I  mean  as  fur 
as  ennything  scusin'  preachin',  prayin',  visitin', 
and  sich  air  consarned.  I  jined  the  move-ment, 
and  ef  I  kin  I'm  agwine  to  Chattynoogy.  I 
hearn  tell  of  severial  preechers  who  was  ferninst 
the  move-ment.  Them  preechers  mind  me  of  a 
dawg  I  once  seed  who  had  broke  its  laig.  He 
was  in  a  seller  and  wouldn't  low  nobody  to  come 
through  the  door  to  help  him  without  snarlin'  and 
snappin'  at  him.  You  sense  the  pint?" 

"Now  as  to  the  Jint  Board  of  Finances ;  I  was 
jest  amazed  and  thrumscuttled  at  the  idee  of  them 
men  of  bisness  leavin'  their  homes  and  givin'  all 
that  time  to  riggers  and  seein'  nothin'  of  Con- 
fearance — and  all  fer  nothin'  at  that.  It  made 
me  feel  prouder  than  ever  that  I  was  a  Methdist 
Stewart  who  had  plowed  his  row  straight  all 


THE  ANNUAL  CONFERENCE.  127 

these  years  and  had  never  grumbled  when  the 
plow  struck  roots." 

"Now  you  ax  me  what  I  thought  bout  the  new 
church.  It  was  sartinly  a  whopper.  Did  you 
ever  see  anything  like  it?  I  tole  Lizy  and  the 
nabors  all  about  them  big  jists  under  the  ceilin' 
and  the  shinin'  winders,  and  the  rooms  and  the 
kitchin  whar  evry  thing  was  ready  for  the  fire, 
and  them  candles  that  burnt  and  burnt  and 
wouldn't  burn  down  and  drap  taller,  and  how 
the  sextant  would  take  a  blazin'  fish  net  and  light 
'em,  and  bout  the  big  drap  from  the  front  eend 
of  the  church  to  the  pullpit,  and  how  they  splice 
the  pulpit  jest  like  a  table,  and  so  on,  and  so  on. 
I  beleeve  in  my  soul  that  even  Lizy  didn't  swal- 
ler  half  of  what  I  tole  about  that  church." 

"But,  Ivry,  I  beleeve  ef  I  was  a  cussin'  man, 
which  I'm  glad  I've  got  too  much  sence  and  grace 
to  be  indulgin'  in,  I  would  a  cussed  when  my 
eyes  lit  on  a  sight  on  Monday  mornin'.  I  stood 
in  front  of  the  church  and  I  seed  whar  that  purty 
rock  floor  was  all  gawmed  up  with  terbaccer 
juce  and  I  beleeve  in  my  soul  I  could  have  counted 
five  hundred  seegar  eends  on  the  grass.  Then 
the  sextant  tole  me  how  some  had  spit  great 
gobs  of  terbaccer — terbaccer,  mind  you  with  the 
dentical  juce — on  that  purty  carpet  inside.  I 


128  BILDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

tell  you  it  made  my  blood  bile  when  I  looked  at 
the  frunt  of  the  church  and  hearn  the  sextant 
tell  what  he  done  about  the  inside.  I  jest  caint 
beleeve  it  was  Methdists  which  was  gilty  of 
treatin'  them  kind  New  Bern  peeple  and  their 
church  in  that  way.  Ef  people  is  bound  to  chaw 
and  smoke,  in  the  name  of  all  that  is  good  and 
clean  and  holy,  let  'em  keep  away  from  the 
meetin'  house  to  do  it.  I  aint  nothin'  but  a  plain 
ole  codger,  but  I  know  what's  due  God,  and  man, 
and  wimmen.  But  I  caint  beleeve  it  was  Meth 
dists  that  done  it.  It  must  have  been  some  fur- 
rin  crowd." 

"Yes,  I  come  nigh  fergittin  to  tell  you  that 
I  had  my  likeness  tuk  in  that  crowd  and — " 

Then  Bildad  suddenly  asked  the  editor  what 
time  it  was.  Hearing  the  reply,  "10:30,"  he. 
jumped  up  suddenly  and  rushed  out  of  the  office, 
leaving  as  an  explanation  of  his  unwonted  de 
parture  only  the  words,  "And  cote's  in  seshun, 
too." 


BILDAD  AKERS  ATTENDS  A  PROHIBI 
TION  MEETING. 


"An'  I  tell  you,  when  you  see  church  members  a-tawkin 
an'  a-votin'  agin  prohibishun  you  set  it  down  that  in 
ninety-nine  cases  outer  a  hunderd  the  whole  kit  and 
bilin  of  'em  naterally  likes  the  stuff." — Bildad  Akers. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

The  prohibitionists  of  Wake  County  met  on 
Thursday  to  effect  an  organization  of  the  county. 
I  was  not  at  all  surprised  to  see  our  old  friend 
Bildad  Akers  sitting  well  to  the  front.  He  always 
likes  to  be  found  in  good  company.  I  was  some 
what  astonished  at  his  dress.  He  wore  a  long 
black  Prince  Albert,  as  full  of  wrinkles  as  if  it 
had  made  a  trip  across  the  continent  in  a  tightly 
packed  valise.  I  was  sitting  near  enough  to  him 
to  perceive  that  the  coat  was  fastened  with  a 
big  brass  pin.  The  button  had  doubtless  per 
ished  among  the  things  of  the  Long  Ago.  I 
could  almost  catch  the  scent  of  gasoline  coming 
from  that  ancient  be-wrinkled  coat.  Then  won 
der  of  wonders !  Bildad  wore  a  standing  collar 
whose  edges  nearly  touched  his  ears.  I  had 
never  seen  him  before  wearing  such  a  large  store 
collar.  I  found  myself  losing  the  thread  of  a 
vociferous  speech  in  the  mental  questioning  as  to 
the  wherefore  of  that  outre  "rig"  of  Bildad's. 
He  had  evidently  slipped  away  from  home. 
"Lizy"  would  most  certainly  have  made  some 
changes  in  his  toilet. 

I  had  not  long  to  wait,  for  I  had  to  leave  the 
meeting  before  adjournment  and  finish  some 


132  BILDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

work  in  the  office.  I  was  not  surprised  when, 
after  I  had  been  seated  at  my  desk  for  perhaps 
fifteen  minutes,  I  heard  the  rumbling  words  in  the 
outer  offijce,  "Gals,  whar  is  Ivry?"  I  rushed  to 
the  door  and  greeted  our  old  friend.  I  asked  him 
to  be  seated  in  the  large  chair.  He  said  that  he 
would  find  a  seat  for  himself,  and  I  barely  saved 
him  from  sitting  on  the  newspaper  rack,  thus 
saving  the  rack  from  dire  calamity. 

But  that  "get  up"  in  the  way  of  dress !  In 
terrogation  points  must  have  been  in  my  wel 
coming  glances,  for  Bildad  at  once  said: 

"I  tole  Lizy  yistiddy  that  I  was  agwine  to  the 
prohibishun  meeting'  at  Roily  to-day.  She  said, 
'You  are  not  gwine  in  them  duds.'  I  said,  'Lizy, 
I  haint  got  no  more,  and  I  haint  gwine  to  buy  no 
more.'  'Why,  laws  sake,  she  sez,  'whar's  them 
weddin'  close?  They're  as  good  as  new,  and 
you  haint  worn  'em  sence  Squire  Blake's  funeral.' 
So  she  went  and  got  em  out  and  cleaned  'em. 
They  was  done  up  in  moth  balls  and  sich,  and 
I  reckin  they  do  purty  well,  but  I  feel  purty 
quare." 

Here  Bildad  elevated  his  chin,  jerked  his  head 
to  one  side,  and  said:  "Brother  Ivry,  I  beleeve 
I  will  pull  off  this  here  collar.  It's  cuttin'  my 


THE   PROHIBITION    MEETING.  133 

yeers  allmost  as  bad  as  that  barber  done  when 
I  got  a  hair  cut  in  Roily  a  few  years  ago." 

I  told  him  to  adjust  his  toilet  as  it  seemed  best. 
In  a  few  minutes,  coat  and  collar  and  brass  pin 
were  tumbled  in  a  heap  on  the  newspaper  rack. 

I,  of  course,  wanted  to  know  what  Bildad  had 
been  doing  since  Conference.  He  seemed  more 
than  usually  talkative.  He  told  me  about  his 
farming  operations,  his  combat  with  a  teacher 
who  vowed  he  would  not  have  the  Bible  read  in 
the  Mill  Hill  school-house,  and  other  things. 
But  he  showed  his  deepest  interest  in  the  "Fust 
Quarterly."  I  had  heard  how  he  had  downed 
Bill  Rollins,  the  steward,  who  had  made  a  won 
derful  speech  against  raising  the  preacher's  sal 
ary;  so  I  asked  Bildad  to  tell  me  about  this. 

"Well,  it  were  this  way.  You  know  at  the 
fust  quarterly,  a  yeer  ergo  last  month,  we  histed 
the  salary  jest  one  hunderd  dollar.  I  knowed 
then  it  wasn't  high  enuff,  but  I  thought  we 
would  hist  it  still  more  this  yeer.  When  I  plunked 
this  question  right  betwixt  the  eyes  of  them  stew- 
arts,  I  seed  the  fire  rise  in  Bill  Rollins'  eyes.  I 
knowed  he  were  in  for  a  speech.  He  riz  and 
said  that  it  was  gittin'  time  to  stop  sendin'  peeple 
to  the  pore-houses  jest  to  make  preechers  rich. 
He  was  agin  any  rise.  He  said  the  preechers  is 


134  BILBAO  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

extravigint.  He  said  he  seed  our  preecher  warin' 
of  store  cuffs  on  a  week  day,  and  that,  when  he 
et  dinner  at  the  preecher's  house  on  that  day,  they 
ackshully  had  a  new  fangled  pie  on  the  table  and 
that  he  counted  two  newspapers  and  magazeens 
in  the  house,  and  that  one  of  the  leetle  girls  had 
on  a  brest  pin.  All  this  while  the  pore  peeple 
was  a  settin'  and  bustin'  to  rake  up  enough  money 
to  pay  his  salary." 

"Edditor  Ivry,  I  was  a  layin'  for  Bill.  I  tole 
him  he  was  a  reglar  church  hawg.  Here  he  was, 
livin'  in  a  good  house,  on  a  thousand  acre  of  land, 
with  money  in  the  bank,  and  eetin'  sassage  every 
day  in  the  winter  and  ham  in  the  summer,  and 
feedin'  on  the  fat  of  the  land,  when  I  knowed 
that  ef  the  preecher  and  his  famly  lived  half  as 
well  we  would  have  to  add  a  thousand  dollar  to 
his  salary.  'You're  a  purty  thing,  Bill,'  I  sez, 
'and  you  ort  to  go  and  crawl  under  the  meetin' 
house  with  the  balance  of  the  hawgs.  Coin'  to 
a  man's  table  and  chamberin'  his  eetin's  and 
smackin'  your  lips  over  them  pies  and  then  comin' 
here  and  faultin'  the  preecher  and  his  family  for 
feedin'  you  like  they  hadn't  bin  feedin'  them 
selves  sence  the  elder  was  thar.'  Well,  I  dont 
know  what  else  I  said,  but  they  made  a  rise  to 


THE   PROHIBITION    MEETING.  135 

the  tune  of  another  hunderd  dollar.  An  we're 
gwine  to  do  the  same  thing  next  yeer." 

In  the  course  of  my  conversation  with  Bildad, 
I  remarked  that  I  had  heard  that  he  intended 
going  to  the  Laymen's  Conference  at  Chatta 
nooga. 

Here  Bildad  threw  into  the  waste  basket  a 
moth  ball  which  he  had  discovered  in  his  vest 
pocket.  He  expectorated  vigorously  and  rasped 
out :  "Ivry,  why  dont  you  let  more  ar  in  this  here 
room?  How  do  you  live  without  ar?"  Then 
he  told  me  about  his  Chattanooga  trip. 

"You  see,  Edittor  Ivry,  I  am  mightily  intrusted 
in  this  here  Laymun's  Moovement.  Right  down 
on  our  sirkit  I've  seed  more  downright  laziness 
and  general  no-countness  to  the  duzzen  than  you 
could  measure  in  a  yeer.  We've  got  members 
who  could  be  a  bloomin'  power  ef  they  would 
only  git  to  work.  The  trouble  is  they  dont  know 
how,  and  a  heap  of  the  preechers  dont  tell  'em 
how.  Why,  the  preecher  adjinin'  our  work  (and 
it's  a  countryfied  lay  out  ef  ever  thar  was  one), 
— that  preecher  is  ackshully  holdin'  mishunary 
classes  at  his  churches  and  puttin'  all  of  'em  to 
work.  I  dont  take  much  stock  in  this  cry  that 
bekase  its  in  the  kentry  you  caint  have  all  of 


136  BILDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

them  men  and  hifalutin'  things  they  have  in  the 
towns." 

"But  as  I  was  sayin',  I  pintedly  wanted  to  go 
to  Chattanoogy,  and  raly  made  up  a  little  speech 
I  wanted  to  spout  off,  but  Lizy  made  out  she  was 
so  afeared  that  Chattanoogy  was  too  furr  off 
fer  me.  She  said  I'd  git  lonesum,  and  that  ef 
it  hadn't  been  fer  you  and  Bob  Fillups  at  New 
Bern  I  would  have  disgraced  the  whole  kit  and 
bilin'  of  the  family.  Not  that  she's  afeared  I 
could  do  anything  scandlous  or  mean,  but  that  I 
jest  haint  got  enuff  sence  to  take  keer  of  myself 
amung  furriners  and  see-farin  peeple.  So  I  gess 
I  wont  go  to  Chattanoogy.  But  it's  agwine  to 
be  a  great  meetin'  and  I  jest  feel  I  could  tell  'em 
somethin'  that  would  go  to  the  jints  and  marrow 
of  the  Church." 

Of  course  I  wanted  to  know  something  about 
the  chances  of  a  prohibition  victory  down  Bil- 
dad's  way.  The  old  man  was  on  the  alert  in  an 
instant.  He  sat  more  erect  in  his  chair,  and  it 
was  evident  that  I  had  broached  a  live  subject. 
He  said  with  much  feeling: 

"I'm  a  leetle  mad  yit  about  us  havin'  to  have 
that  lection.  Them  legislaturs  dried  nearly  the 
whole  State  and  then,  when  we  prohibishuners 
wanted  'em  to  finish  the  bizness,  they  said,  'No 


THE   PROHIBITION    MEETING.  137 

sirs,  it  will  be  ruinin'  the  State  not  to  give  the 
peeple  a  chance  to  vote.  You  mus  now  take 
keer  of  yourselves.'  Apd  we  are  gwine  to  take 
keer  of  our  selves." 

"We  got  a  whole  passel  of  church  members 
down  our  way  who  tawk  mighty  big  bout  pro- 
bishun  takin'  away  their  freedom.  An  this  makes 
me  sick.  When  a  church  member  gits  to  tawkin' 
and  votin'  with  the  peeple  who  dont  keer  a  rap 
for  the  church  and  its  teechin's,  its  a  bad  day  that 
we  have  lit  on." 

"I  was  at  Sike's  store  tother  day.  Lishy  Penn 
come  along  with  a  slick  lawyerfied  lookin'  feller. 
I  says  to  Sikes,  'Who  is  that?'  Sikes  sez,  'He  is 
the  feller  from  Wilminton  which  have  come  to 
work  up  this  section  fer  licker.'  Lishy  was  a 
interducin'  his  slick  friend  to  different  ones.  I 
noticed  he  dodged  me,  but  I  overhearn  him  say 
to  Jim  Peeler,  'Let  me  interduce  my  frend.  He's 
lectioneerin'  agin  prohibishun.  I  don't  believe, 
Jim,  in  licker,  but  I  do  believe  in  pussonal  free 
dom,  and  that  is  what  prohibishun  will  take  away 
from  us.'  This  was  too  much  for  Bildad  Akers. 
I  steps  up  and  says :  'Lishy,  a-beggin'  your  par 
don,  it's  the  pussonal  licker  you  love,  and  all 
the  pussonal  freedum  you  want  is  the  pussonal 
freedom  to  keep  on  drinkin'  that  pussonal  dram 


138  BILDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

on  the  sly.'  Then  I  left  Lishy  and  his  frend, 
as  our  preecher  says,  to  their  roominashuns.  An 
I  tell  you  when  you  see  church  members  a  tawkin' 
and  votin'  agin  prohibishun  you  set  it  down  that 
in  ninety-nine  cases  outer  a  hunderd,  the  whole 
kit  and  bilin'  of  em  naterally  likes  the  stuff.  So 
I  beleeve  about  the  only  thing  that  can  bring 
over  sich  members  to  probishun  is  a  good  old 
case  of  relijun." 

"We're  gwine  to  work  mighty  hard  to  put  up  a 
good  vote  for  prohibishun  down  our  way,  but  I 
tell  you,  you  must  take  your  speekers  away  from 
the  towns  and  put  'em  in  these  kentry  places 
where  they're  most  needed.  They  may  not  be 
as  well  fed,  but  they'll  do  more  good.  All  us 
kentry  peeple  need  is  to  be  tole  the  right  way,  and 
we're  ginerally  ready  to  take  it." 

Here  Bildad  stopped  his  conversation  and 
asked  for  coat  and  collar.  Putting  on  that  collar 
was  a  mighty  labor,  but  it  was  at  last  performed, 
and,  with  a  promise  to  write  a  letter  to  the  Advo 
cate  before  summer,  Bildad  departed,  leaving  a 
faint  odor  of  gasoline  in  his  wake. 


ANOTHER  WONDERFUL  LETTER. 


"Some  preechers  who  set  meek  and  quiet  like  in  the 
settin  room  a-waitin'  fer  'em  to  come  in,  and  feelin' 
that  they  air  a  plum  needcessity  to  the  fambly  ort  to 
git  jest  one  square  look  at  the  face  of  the  dear  sister  or 
brother  and  ketch  what  they  say  at  the  back  door." — 
Bildad  Akers. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Very  often  the  linotype  operator  comes  into 
the  editorial  office  to  gain  information  concern 
ing  the  meaning  of  certain  marks  intended  to 
represent  words.  Sometimes  the  information  is 
imparted ;  at  other  times,  the  operator  is  sent  back 
to  the  machine  with  instructions  to  use  his  best 
deciphering  knowledge  and  trust  to  Providence. 
Many  of  our  correspondents  have  never  been  to 
a  writing  school. 

Occasionally,  the  linotype  man  is  not  after  in 
formation  as  to  the  meaning  of  marks  and 
scratches.  He  wishes,  simply,  in  the  politest 
manner  possible,  to  convey  the  idea  that  the 
article  in  his  hand  has  accidentally  slipped 
through  the  editorial  fingers  to  the  keyboard  of 
the  machine  instead  of  into  the  waste-basket.  A 
mild  reproof,  of  course,  is  intended  by  the  lino 
type  man — no  suggestion  that  the  editor  does  not 
know  his  business. 

"You  did  not  intend  to  have  this  published, 
did  you?"  said  the  linotype  man  through  his 
agent,  the  foreman,  the  other  day  as  the  editor 
was  trying  to  locate  the  psychological  element  in 
that  wonderful  victory  at  Denver  in  which  the 
delegates  actually  "hollered"  for  Bryan  longer 


142  BILBAO  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

than  the  Chicago  delegates  for  Taft  by  at  least 
one-half  an  hour. 

The  editor  turned  and  saw  a  half  dozen  pages 
of  writing  paper,  sewed  end  to  end  with  black 
thread.  One  end  of  the  long  ribbon  was  in  the 
foreman's  hand;  the  other  end  trailed  on  the 
floor.  The  chirography  of  Bildad  Akers  stood 
out  plain.  I  knew  the  article.  I  knew  when  I 
gave  it  in  as  "copy."  I  knew  what  the  trouble 
was — the  strange  spelling.  I  knew  that  we  had 
been  criticised  for  publishing  the  articles  of  Bil 
dad  Akers  in  their  original  orthography.  I  knew 
that  to  have  published  them  otherwise  would  not 
only  have  offended  our  old  friend,  but  would  have 
had  the  same  effect  on  the  articles  as  brushing 
the  dew  from  the  morning  glory  or  rubbing  the 
blush  from  June  peach.  So  without  asking  any 
questions,  I  simply  told  the  foreman  to  "let  her 
go"  (excuse  slang). 

"Dear  Edditor 

I  have  nothin'  speshul  to  write  jest  now,  but 
I  hav  jest  read  as  how  edditor  Ivry  has  axed 
the  preechers  and  laymun  to  write  more  for  the 
Ole  Roily.  No  one  kin  say  that  any  preecher, 
elder,  Stewart,  edditor,  or  any  other  sarvint  of 
the  church  has  ever  apealed  to  me  for  help  with 
out  me  bustin'  a  biler  if  necessary  to  despond. 


ANOTHER  WONDERFUL  LETTER.  143 

This  is  what  this  peace  means.  I  jest  want  to 
do  Ivry  a  favur  and  tone  up  the  litterary  apart 
ment  of  the  Qle  Roily  agin.  I've  got  sence  enuff 
to  know  what  an  omnybuss  bill  is.  This  is  the 
kind  this  letter  is.  I  ginerally  manages  to  keep 
up  with  the  doins'  of  our  legislatur  boddies  every 
yeer.  So  evry  reader  knows  why  I  am  writin' 
under  the  head  peace  of  Omnybuss  Itims.  This 
peace  is  made  up  of  all  kinds  of  fixins'  jest  the 
same  as  was  that  stu  I  et  at  Confearence  which, 
as  I  remember,  they  called  a  new  brunswick  stu. 

Well,  I  do  wish  the  preechers  and  laymun 
would  scrach  their  pens  more  for  the  Advocate. 
It  would  do  'em  a  site  of  good  in  trainin'  em  to 
write  proper.  Ef  I  had  not  never  writ  so  much 
for  the  papers  I  would  hav  liked  a  site  of  havin' 
the  stile  and  popylarity  I  have  got  as  a  litterary 
scribe.  Now  you  know  I'm  jest  jokin'  now. 

I  wish  you  could  get  up  a  few  sanktified  fusses 
in  your  paper.  I  know  every  edditor  likes  sich. 
Things  is  too  quiet  like.  It  shows  that  folks  is 
not  thinkin'  much,  and  when  folks  is  not  thinkin' 
much  you  may  set  it  down  that  thar  is  some 
plum  lazyness  in  the  ar,  and  then  when  things  is 
so  quiet  like  thar's  apt  to  be  some  mischiff 
agwine  on.  I  remember  Jim  Moore's  wife  had 
a  passel  of  hefty,  vigrus  boys,  about  a  duzen  of 


144  BILDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

em  it  seemed  to  me.  I  used  to  be  over  thar  a 
sight.  As  long  as  them  boys  was  yellin'  and 
goin'  on  in  the  backyard,  we  knowd  evrything 
was  jest  right,  but  when  things  got  quiet  like, 
we  knowed  they  was  up  to  some  meanness.  Now 
I  don't  like  to  have  things  too  quiet  in  the  "Ole 
Rolly's  backyard.  It  looks  like  our  people  is 
lazy  and  aint  doin'  much.  The  biggest  work 
of  the  yeer  in  the  ground  is  goin'  on  when  the 
Ma-ch  wins  is  blowin'.  Write  more,  preechers 
and  laymun,  even  ef  you  stir  up  hornets.  And 
dont  fergit  the  words  of  the  Bible,  'out  of  the 
bundance  of  the  hart  the  mouth  speaketh,'  and 
it  must  be  sed,  'the  pen  writeth.'  When  thar's 
not  much  speakin'  and  ritin'  thar's  not  much  in 
the  hart,  that  is,  as  a  rool.  I  put  in  these  last 
words  for  the  benyfit  of  them  peeple  which  the 
Lord  never  intended  for  'em  to  say  much,  and 
who  is  purtiest  when  they  says  the  least. 

But  afore  I  drap  this  subjeck  I  jest  want  to 
say  this.  Most  of  the  writin'  thar  is  in  the  Ole 
Roily  is  did  by  the  sirkut  riders.  Not  as  I  am 
sayin'  that  some  citty  preechers  aint  all  right,  but 
it  does  seem  to  me  that  the  feel  hans,  as  you  call 
em,  is  doin'  the  most  work  ef  you  jedge  by  the 
reports  that  comes  in. 

Craps  is  mity  fine  down  in  these  parts.    Lizy 


ANOTHER  WONDERFUL  LETTER.  145 

was  sayin'  to  me  tother  day  that  old  Marster  is 
mity  good  to  childern  and  eejits.  I  got  to  thinkin' 
bout  the  fine  craps  this  yeer  and  about  the  politi 
cal  speekin's  and  convenshuns  and  lections  and 
sich  like,  and  I  sez  to  Lizy,  Lizy,  ole  Marster  is 
mity  good,  to  His  peepul  endurin'  lection  yeer 
with  so  many  speekin's  and  fussin's  and  votin's 
and  gineral  rucuses.  We  would  be  in  a  bad  fix 
ef  ole  Marster  didn't  make  up  fer  it  all  by  givin' 
good  craps?  The  more  I  watch  things  the 
stronger  I  git  in  my  idees  of  a  Divine  Prover- 
dence.  ^ 

Tawkin'  about  politicks,  I  didnt  go  to  the 
Sharlit  convenshun.  They  didn't  lect  me  a  delly- 
gate,  and  I  am  glad  I  didnt  go,  fer  my  man  got 
beat.  Yes,  as  my  friend  George  Smitt  says,  I 
am  powerful  glad  I  wasn't  thar.  They  had  regu 
lar  shoutin'  times.  Bill  Baggs  was  thar,  and 
they  say  he  made  more  fuss  than  any  of  'em. 
Yet  Bill  is  the  feller  that  says  he  caint  tend  the 
pertracted  meetin  bekase  the  fuss  makes  him 
nervus.  I'm  layin'  fer  Bill  the  next  meetin',  which 
will  begin  next  Sundy  comin'  too  weeks.  I'm 
agwine  to  take  the  hide  offin  him  when  he  tawks 
about  bein'  nervus  in  a  pertracted  meetin'. 

Our  preecher  is  keepin'  his  jints  greased  and 
the  church's  too,  endurin'  this  sizzlin'  hot 
10 


146  BILDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

weather.  He  put  up  with  us  last  Saddy  nite. 
Arter  supper  we  got  out  in  the  yard  and  tawked 
about  things  in  gineral.  He  hapened  to  say  why 
he  was  late  in  comin'  in.  It  was  nigh  candle  lite 
when  he  lit  from  his  buggy.  He  said  he  had 
jest  come  from  old  Sister  Buckin's  whar  he 
hadn't  been  in  nearly  a  yeer,  and  he  thawt  he 
ort  to  stay  a  rite  smart  spell.  I  edged  up  to  the 
preecher.  Lizy  had  jest  went  in  and  I  thawt  I 
had  a  spankin'  chance  to  tawk  to  the  preecher 
jest  as  I  pleased.  So,  I  says,  Bud,  I  want  to  ease 
myself  of  a  few  idees  which,  cordin'  to  my 
noshun,  would  be  mity  handy  to  preechers.  You 
all  has  got  several  harisies,  as  George  Smitt  says, 
in  your  mentle  make-up. 

Furst,  harisy  I,  when  you  tawk  about  takin'  a 
rest  now  and  then  and  missin'  a  Sunday  and  that 
you  have  to  stand  up  ole  brother  So-and-So  in 
your  place,  you  have  got  the  idee  that  if  you  miss 
one  Sundy  even  the  barrul  will  bust  all  its  hoops 
and  the  waters  of  salvashun  will  go  to  waist. 
Now,  do  you  know  no  peeple  aint  so  tuk  up  with 
a  preecher  but  what  they  raly  enjy  hearin'  some 
one  else  once  in  a  while.  The  church  aint  so  de 
pendent  on  one  sarmont  of  no  preecher.  Then 
arter  you  come  back  they  will  be_sp  much  gladder 
to  see  you.  Bud,  dont  git  the  big  head  about  the 


ANOTHER  WONDERFUL  LETTER.  147 

needcesity  of  the  meetin'  house  havin'  you  all  the 
time,  an  nobody  but  you. 

Secundly,  harisy  2,  you  have  got  the  idee  that 
you've  got  to  preach  a  long  whet  to  a  country 
congregashun  bekase  they  dont  hear  you  more'n 
once  a  month.  Do  you  sometimes  preach  an 
hour'n  and  a  half  in  sizzlin'  wether  jest  bekase 
you  think  you  have  to  tank  em  full  ferninst  the 
next  sarmont  ?  You  never  made  a  bigger  mistake 
in  your  life,  in  spite  of  what  some  old  galivantin' 
complainers  say.  Peeple  that  has  got  enny  sence 
looks  at  the  quality  of  the  meat  instid  of  the 
lenth  of  the  shank.  Don't  forgit  it. 

Thurdly,  Harisy  2,  you  was  speekin'  of  bein' 
afeared  old  Sister  Buckins  would  not  like  it  if 
you  didn't  stay  a  long  time.  Now,  a  great  many 
peeple  like  fer  the  preecher  to  visit  like  they 
preech — short  and  sweet.  Some  of  these  peeple 
who  air  everlastingly  complainin'  about  the 
preecher  not  comin'  to  see  'em  would  be  disap- 
pinted  ef  you  was  to  come.  Some  preechers  who 
set  meek  and  quiet  like  In  the  settin  room  awaitin' 
for  'em  to  come  in  and  feelin'  that  they  air  a 
plum  needcessity  to  the  fambly  ort  to  git  jest  one 
square  look  at  the  face  of  the  dear  sister  or 
brother  and  ketch  what  they  say  at  the  backdoor. 
It  would  take  a  few  kinks  outer  your  self  con- 


148  BILDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

sate.  Now,  ole  Sister  Buckins,  I  happen  to  know, 
is  rarin'  rite  now  bekase  you  staid  so  long.  She 
was  bilin'  soap  and  wanted  to  git  things  done 
afore  Sundy.  Visit  your  peeple,  Bud,  whether 
they  like  it  or  not,  but  dont  fling  away  your 
common-sence,  and  dont  git  big-headed  about 
your  needcessity  to  the  fambly.  Now,  Bud,  its 
time  to  go  to  roost.  Sence  we've  had  pra'r's,  you 
may  lite  out  to  bed. 

This  is  what  I  said  to  my  preecher.  Now  1 
mus  stop.  Next  time  I  may  rite  you  a  peace 
bout  as  how  I  cured  Molt  Henry  from  dodgin' 
the  Stewart  jest  afore  Confearance.  So  I  will 
stop  without  sinin'  my  name  at  the  tale  eend,  as 
this  is  not  a  letter,  but  a  peace  with  my  name 
sined  at  the  dash  board. 


AN  EVENING  WITH  BILDAD  AKERS. 


"You  may  jest  say  for  Bildad  Akers  that  ef  he  has 
only  a  leetle  to  leave  his  fambly  when  he  dies,  he'll  be 
happy  in  that  last  hour  ef  he  kin  jest  remember  that  he 
made  things  comfortable  fer  'em  in  body  and  mind  and 
sperrit  while  he  was  alive." — Bildad  Akers. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

The  fire  on  the  hearthstone  of  the  old-fash 
ioned  sitting-room  drowsed  in  a  bed  of  gray 
ashes,  and  each  little  sputtering  blaze  seemed  to 
say:  "Leave  us  alone  and  go  where  the  warmth 
of  the  out-of-doors  is  covering  the  earth  like  a 
blanket." 

So  we  went  out  on  the  ancient  porch  with  its 
rude  railing  and  sat  right  under  the  purple  bells 
of  a  great  wisteria  vine.  The  soft  April  twilight 
was  steeped  in  that  languorous  warmth  which 
rightfully  belongs  to  the  month  of  June.  The 
frogs  were  croaking  in  the  meadow  below, 
through  which  only  an  hour  ago  the  little  creek 
glistened  like  a  skein  of  silver.  Far  over  the 
orchard  to  the  right,  whose  pink  and  white  glo 
ries  were  loading  the  air  with  their  elusive  per 
fume,  the  muffled  roar  of  a  train  was  heard,  oc 
casionally  mingled  with  the  barking  of  a  dog  in 
a  distant  clump  of  trees  where  a  neighbor's  lamp 
was  glimmering. 

It  was  an  evening  that  seemed  carved  out  of 
the  heart  of  summer.  Such  an  evening  casts  a 
kind  of  spell  upon  all  who  leave  open  their  soul- 
windows  that  the  sound  of  the  infinite  may  enter. 


152  BILDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

Bildad  Akers,  in  spite  of  his  crudeness  and  rug- 
gedness,  belongs  to  this  class  of  beings.  So  I 
wondered  not  at  his  silence  for  the  space  of  five 
minutes  after  we  had  taken  our  seat  on  the  porch. 
He  was  under  the  spell,  and,  at  the  thought,  my 
heart  warmed  to  him  as  to  a  kindred  spirit.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  the  strong  countenance  had 
relaxed  and  that  certain  lines  around  the  mouth 
had  vanished. 

He  finally  broke  the  silence  as  he  replaced  the 
straggling  lock  of  gray  hair  which  had  been  lifted 
from  its  normal  position  by  a  truant  breeze  which 
had  just  stolen  in  from  the  orchard. 

"Yes,  Ivry,"  he  said,  "as  I  was  a  sayin'  jest 
now  at  supper,  the  more  I  look  at  my  neighbors 
and  the  older  I  git,  the  harder  it  gits  for  me  to 
abuse  'em  instid  of  pityin'  em.  You  town  fel 
lers  think  you  see  all  the  sad  sights.  You  are 
a  sight  mistaken.  A  man  which  keeps  his  eyes 
open,  and  what  has  a  heart,  can  see  a  plenty  in 
the  kentry,  and  you  caint  say  that  thar  aint  no 
poverty  here.  Well,  thar  aint  no  poverty  sich  as 
you  have  in  the  towns.  We've  got  plenty  who 
are  land  pore,  but  that  aint  the  kind  of  poreness 
I'm  thinkin  of." 

Here  the  old  man  wheeled  around  in  his  chair 
and  said:  "It  makes  me  sad  to  think  how  pore 


UNDER  THE  WISTERIA.  153 

some  of  my  neighbors  is.  They're  jest  as  good 
peeple  as  walks  the  face  o'  the  yeth.  They've 
got  plenty  of  land.  They  drive  fine  hosses  and 
sich,  but  they're  as  pore  as  Jobe's  turkey.  Some 
of  'em  don't  seem  to  keer  a  chickin  feather  about 
anything  else  than  to  keep  on  makin'  their  farms 
bigger  and  havin'  more  money  in  the  bank.  They 
don't  figger  that  all  this  time  they're  sufferin' 
from  rale  poreness  of  mind  and  heart." 

"Why,  there's  John  Winkler  down  at  the  cross 
roads.  He  owns  more  Ian  than  anybody  else  in 
the  township,  and  drives  the  fastest  hosses.  He 
has  a  passel  of  childern,  some  of  em  growd  up, 
and  not  a  single  one  of  'em  has  any  eddication. 
Now,  I  hain't  got  none,  but  its  bekase  I  never 
had  the  chance.  I  know  what  it  means  tho.  Ole 
John  says  all  the  eddication  his  childern  need  is 
to  read  and  write,  and  that  ef  they  can  only  git 
along  well  in  the  world,  they'll  be  allright.  His 
idee  of  gittin'  on  right  is  to  have  plenty  of  Ian 
and  have  money  in  the  bank.  To  see  old  John 
losin'  sight  of  mind  riches  and  never  stoppin'  to 
think  how  pore  even  a  rich  man  is  when  he  is 
mind-pore  it  jest  makes  me  sick.  I  will  leave 
my  childern  a  leetle  when  they  lay  me  over  yander 
on  that  hill  among  them  graves;  but  this  is  not 
what  makes  me  feel  good.  It's  the  fact  that  I 


154  BILDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

give  em  all  a  good  eddication.  I  don't  want  my 
childern  mind-pore." 

"What  you  reckon,"  continued  Bildad,  "Bill 
Summers  said  when  the  preecher  tried  to  git 
him  to  send  that  purty  bright  gal  of  his  to  col- 
lige?  She's  an  ambitious  gal  and  wants  to  make 
somethin'  of  herself.  Bill  said  that  he  reckoned 
as  fer  as  dollars  and  sents  was  consarned  he 
could  make  the  raise,  but  that  ef  he  sent  Sally 
off  he  would  have  to  hire  an  extry  hand,  and 
that  his  polisy  was  never  to  add  a  expense  to  a 
expense.  It  takes  that  kind  of  man  to  do  what 
he  done.  Sally  was  the  gal  that  wanted  to  raise 
a  leetle  flower  gyarden  right  ferninst  the  cotton- 
patch.  She  had  already  sot  out  some  plants  when 
one  day  her  daddy  come  in  and  begun  to  make 
a  fuss  about  it,  and  then  went  out  and  tore  the 
whole  thing  up.  He  said  that  groun  was  too 
good  for  cotton  to  be  wasted  that  away.  Do  you 
know  that  we  have  got  too  many  out  in  the  kentry 
that  looks  at  it  that  away.  They  seem  to  think 
that  life  is  not  worth  nothin'  'cept  you  kin  turn 
it  into  money  and  hawgs  and  hosses  and  land. 
They  don't  seem  to  ketch  the  idee  that  the  porest 
critter  in  the  world  is  the  money-rich  man  who 
is  mind-pore  and  heart-pore." 

"Some  of  my  neighbors,  and  well-to-do  at  that, 


UNDER  THE  WISTERIA.  155 

eats  the  porest  grub  and  wears  the  porest  close, 
and  never  buys  any  furnitoor  for  the  house,  and 
never  fixes  up  the  house  none,  and  never  gives 
the  boys  and  gals  any  schoolin',  jest  bekase  they 
want  to  leave  something  they  say,  to  their  fambly 
when  they  die.  Why  caint  they  larn  that  makin' 
their  fambly  happy  and  well-to-do  in  mind  and 
sperrit  while  they  live  is  wuth  more'n  the  biggest 
fortune  ever  left?  You  may  jest  say  for  Bildad 
Akers  that  ef  he  has  only  a  leetle  to  leave  his 
fambly  when  he  dies  he'll  be  happy  in  that  last 
hour  ef  he  kin  jest  remember  that  he  made  things 
comfortable  for  'em  in  body  and  mind  and  sperrit 
while  he  was  alive.  That's  the  most  of  my  re- 
lijun,  Ivry,  and  I  beleev  that  was  the  relijun  Ole 
Marster  teached  when  He  was  upon  yeth." 

I  here  stopped  my  friend,  Bildad,  to  say  that 
he  might  be  painting  too  dark  a  picture  for  his 
country  neighbors,  and  that,  as  bad  as  it  is  in  the 
country  sections,  it  is  worse  in  the  towns. 

Bildad  simply  replied:  "That  doesn't  make  it 
no  better  in  these  kentry  diggin's,  do  it?" 

Of  course,  there  was  no  reply  to  this  kind  of 
argument. 

"Now  you  see,"  he  continued,  "I'm  nothin' 
but  a  plain  ole  codger,  but  I  keep  my  head  wheels 
a-turnin',  and  I  think  a  sight  of  things  you  don't 


156  BILDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

have  any  idee  I'm  thinkin'  of.  I'm  shore  that 
the  kentry  preecher  dont  lay  out  a  wide  enough 
land  in  their  gospel  plowin'.  There's  a  plum  heap 
more  for  'em  to  do  than  to  preach  a  sarmont  once 
a  week  in  the  meetin'-house,  stay  all  night  with 
one  of  his  members,  take  up  a  c'lection  the  fust 
good  Sundy,  and  hold  a  meetin'  in  the  summer 
or  fall.  Our  peeple  need  workin'  up  jest  as  they 
do  in  towns,  and  need  it  a  sight  wuss.  The  gos- 
pil  must  git  into  the  homes  and  the  soshul  life  of 
our  peeple.  It  must  clean  up  the  frunt  yards  and 
put  paint  on  the  house.  It's  got  to  make  things 
comfortable  and  put  books  and  papers  into  the 
hans  of  the  boys  and  gerls  and  send  them  off  to 
our  colliges  and  sich.  Don't  you  think  so  ?" 

I  assented  most  heartily  to  all  of  this. 

"Then  you  see,"  continued  Bildad,  "our  young 
peeple's  life  needs  a  turnin'  over.  They  need 
more  than  to  go  to  preachin'  and  Sundy  scool. 
The  pint  is,  they  must  have  more  to  do,  and  this 
will  give  'em  what  you  call  soshul  life  and  mind 
and  heart  trainin'  at  the  same  time.  I  git  mad 
every  time  a  kentry  preacher  talks  about  not 
bein'  able  to  run  a  Sundy-scool  endurin'  the  win 
ter  or  havin'  a  Epwurth  Lege.  This  air  a  reflec 
tion  on  our  people.  We've  got  to  have  the  same 
kind  of  life  and  church  work  in  the  kentry  that 


UNDER  THE  WISTERIA.  157 

them  town  peeple  have.  We  air  made  out  o'  the 
same  dirt.  The  preechers  must  git  to  givin'  the 
gospil  a  wider  range  in  the  kentry  than  they  are 
now  givin'.  They  have  jest  naterally  got  to  git 
to  studyin'  kentry  condishuns.  I've  been  tryin' 
to  git  my  preecher  to  have  a  Epwurth  Lege  at 
our  meetin'-house,  but  he  sez  that  it  caint  be 
did.  I  jest  know  it  kin." 

At  this  juncture,  the  sound  of  a  squeaking 
wagon  was  wafted  to  our  ears  on  the  night 
breeze.  Bildad  suddenly  paused  in  his  conver 
sation.  Mrs.  Akers,  who  had  just  joined  us  said, 
"Who's  that,  Bildad?"  Bildad  said  nothing,  but 
looked  out  into  the  darkness  of  the  road,  where 
the  wagon,  making  a  hideous  noise  with  its 
wheels,  was  passing.  When  it  finally  turned  the 
corner  of  the  road,  Bildad  leaned  back  and  gave 
the  first  big  laugh  I  had  heard  from  him  in  some 
time. 

Mrs.  Akers  said  querulously:  "Well  I  won 
der  what  ails  that  man.  Bildad,  what  on  the 
face  of  the  yeth  is  ailin'  of  you?" 

I,  too,  was  wondering  what  change  had  come 
over  the  spirit  of  Bildad's  dream. 

He  finally  said:  "Do  you  know  who  that  was 
a-passin?  It  was  ole  Jimmy  Flack,  who  is  the 
second  biggest  land-owner  in  this  township.  I  jest 


158  BIIJ>AD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

had  it  to  come  to  my  mind  the  last  preachin'  day 
when  the  preecher  lifted  his  Confearance  c'lec- 
tions.  Ole  Jimmy  has  got  the  idee  that  the  only 
riches  is  in  land  and  hosses  and  sich.  He  lives 
like  a  hawg,  and  makes  his  peeple  live  like  him. 
He's  got  his  ole  oman  to  think  jest  like  him,  only 
wuss.  They  are  members  and  are  on  my  Stewart's 
list.  I  know  all  about  'em.  The  best  knower  of 
human  natur,  Ivry,  is  a  Methodist  Stewart.  He 
has  a  fine  chance  for  findin'  out  what  kind  of  a 
critter  a  pusson  air." 

"Old  Jimmy  come  in  late  that  Sundy,  and  he 
'peared  to  be  mightily  flustrated  bout  somethin'.  I 
knowed  he  had  got  to  the  meetin'-house  afore 
I  did,  and  I  didn't  know  until  arterards  why  he 
come  in  late.  He  had  put  in  his  buggy  four  years 
of  corn  for  his  hoss.  When  he  got  to  the  meet 
in'-house,  he  found  he  had  drapped  two  years. 
His  ole  oman  had  made  him  go  back  a  mile  to 
find  them  two  years  the  buggy  had  drapped." 

"When  the  preecher  got  through  his  sarmont 
and  lighted  on  the  c'lectin'  bisness,  I  jest 
couldn't  keep  from  laffin'  when  I  seed  he  had  sot 
his  hart  on  gittin'  five  dollar  from  ole  Jimmy. 
He  had  staid  all  night  a  week  or  two  afore  with 
the  ole  man  and  he  know'd  ole  Jimmy  was  able 
to  pay  a  hunderd  dollar.  He  never  counted,  tho, 


UNDER  THE   WISTERIA.  159 

on  gittin'  more  than  five  dollar,  bein'  as  how  he 
had  staid  all  night  with  him  but  oncet.  Well,  it 
was  a  sight  to  see  ole  Jimmy  and  ole  Mrs.  Jimmy 
endurin'  that  c'lection.  She  looked  mad  all  the 
time,  and  oncet  when  he  made  a  moshun  like  he 
was  goin'  to  speak,  she  grabbed  his  arm  and 
pulled  him  back.  The  sweat  was  pourin'  from 
his  face  all  the  time.  He  felt  that  all  his  money 
give  to  the  c'lections  was  jest  money  plum  wasted, 
but  he  knowd  he  must  give  sumthin'  for  an 
excuse.  Well,  the  preacher  tawked  and  tawked 
and  looked  at  Jimmy.  I  santered  over,  and,  fool- 
like,  put  in  a  word.  Jimmy  jest  looked  stubborn 
and  straight  ahead.  His  ole  oman  looked  mad. 
Finally  he  axed  Tom  Fallows  for  a  pensul  and 
he  writ  somethin'  down.  We  know'd  then  he  had 
prescribed  somethin'  and  we  felt  sartin  the  work 
was  done.  What  you  reckun  he  promussed  to  pay  ? 
Only  a  measley  quarter  of  a  dollar.  This  was 
not  the  wust.  I  happened  to  drive  behind  him 
and  his  wife  arter  the  meetin'  broke  up,  and  what 
she  said  to  ole  Jimmy  for  wastin'  that  quarter 
was  a  sight,  and  she  never  let  up  with  her  tongue 
tell  they  druv  into  their  yard  whar  I  counted 
forty  bale  of  cotton.  Now,  it  is  sich  truck  we 
have  got  to  deal  with  here  in  the  kentry.  It 
makes  me  mad  to  think  of  it.  Yit,  when  I  re- 


l60  BIU)AD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

member  how  big  the  preecher's  eyes  got  when  he 
looked  on  ole  Jimmy's  prescription  and  saw  it- 
was  only  a  quarter,  I  caint  help  from  laffin'.  And 
that  was  what  I  was  laffin'  about  as  that  waggin 
passed." 

I  here  had  to  tell  Bildad  we  had  plenty  of  ole 
Jimmy  Flacks  in  town,  and  that  many  of  them 
do  not  give  even  a  quarter.  He  did  not  answer 
this  statement,  but  yawned  and  said: 

"But  I  guess  it  is  bout  time  to  turn  in.  Come 
in  and  have  pra'rs,  and  you  can  go  to  roost." 

As  I  lay  in  the  best  bed  of  Bildad's  hospitable 
old-fashioned  home  that  night,  I  thought  much  of 
the  country  problem  which  Bildad  Akers  had  long 
pondered,  and,  after  I  fell  asleep,  I  dreamed  that 
a  wonderful  change  had  come  across  old  Jimmy 
and  his  wife,  and  that  they  had  actually  sub 
scribed  to  the  "Old  Raleigh." 


BASEBALL  AND  THE  CHURCH  PAPER. 


11 


"Now,  I've  thought  a  heap  'bout  what  you  said,  and 
I've  jest  lit  on  this,  which  I  believe  is  a  fack,  that  one 
of  the  pint  blank  things  that  is  ail  in'  our  church  is  that 
our  peeple  don't  know  nothin'  about  their  church." — 
Bildad  Akers. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

It  was  only  an  ordinary  knot  of  men  and  boys 
that  almost  blocked  the  doorway  of  the  wait 
ing-room.  It  was  not  difficult  for  the  detached 
lounger  to  discover  that  base-ball  was  the  subject 
of  discussion.  I  was  about  to  pass  on  to  the 
ticket  window  when  my  ears  caught  a  familiar 
note  in  one  voice  which  seemed  unusually  ob 
trusive  and  masterful.  It  dealt  out  with  enthusi 
asm  and  authority  such  words  as  "pitcher"  and 
"run,"  and  averred  that  "that  pitcher  jest  nat- 
erally  had  ought  to  be  tuk  frum  the  game  in  the 
fust  eenin." 

Of  course,  I  did  not  pass  on  at  once  to  the  ticket 
window.  I  looked  over  the  fringe  of  the  crowd 
at  a  hale  animated  old  man  who  was  the  centre 
of  interest.  I  did  not  mean  to  catch  his  eye,  but 
he  caught  mine,  and,  stopping  in  the  midst  a  sen 
tence  descriptive  of  the  "pitchin"  power  of  a 
"feller  down  my  way,"  he  advanced  toward  me 
and  gave  me  what  is  called  a  handshake,  while  he 
roared  his  salutation  through  the  waiting-room. 

I  knew  him  to  be  Bildad  Akers  before  I  saw 
him  in  the  centre  of  the  crowd.  If  there  had 
been  any  doubt,  it  would  have  been  dispelled  after 
that  hand-shake.  There  is  no  other  like  it. 


164  BILDAD  AKERSI  HIS  BOOK. 

"Bless  my  soul,  Ivry,  who'd  a  suspishuned 
a-seein'  you  down  here  jest  as  I  was  a-hopin' 
you'd  never  ketch  on  as  I  had  been  to  Roily.  Per 
jest  as  sartain  as  I  see  you  you've  got  to  plunk 
somethin'  down  in  the  Advocate  about  me.  I 
don't  keer,  but  Lizy  says  people  '11  think  I  go 
to  Roily  jest  to  see  and  be  seed,  and  then  to  git 
my  name  in  the  Advocate.  So  I  sorter  thawt 
I'd  git  out  of  these  diggin's  without  havin'  sot 
eyes  on  you.  But  shore  as  guns  iurn  you  have 
cotch  me  this  time.  Well,  well — Ivry  how  air 
you  anyway?" 

I  answered  Bildad  as  courtesy  and  brotherly 
feeling  demanded,  and  informed  him  that  I  was 
going  down  his  way  and  anticipated  with  great 
pleasure  the  privilege  of  talking  to  him  on  the 
train.  The  old  man  drew  his  fingers  through  his 
hair,  and  his  face  took  on  an  expression  which 
suggested  to  me  a  painful  query  on  his  part  as 
to  what  "Lizy"  would  say  now.  But  the  domin- 
nant  feeling  in  a  moment  conquered,  and  his 
pleasure  expressed  itself  in  the  words:  "I'd  jest 
as  soon  talk  to  you  as  any  of  them  other  fellers." 
This  from  Bildad  meant  much. 

In  a  few  minutes  we  were  on  the  train.  The 
car  was  crowded.  Not  a  vacant  seat  could  be 
found.  There  was  one  defiant  looking  little  man 


THE  CHURCH  PAPER.  165 

with  a  stubby  mustache  and  bull-dog  jaw,  who 
was  occupying  two  double  seats.  Bildad  eyed 
him  for  a  moment,  and  then  approached  him 
and  said:  "You  feller,  thar,  hike  them  hoofs 
offen  that  seat  and  dont  make  me  think  so  much 
of  a  hawg  tryin'  to  eat  two  years  of  corn  at  the 
same  time."  The  little  man  at  first  hesitated,  but 
looking  up  at  the  owner  of  that  voice,  he  imme 
diately  "hiked."  I  turned  the  seat  and  settled 
down  for  our  chat. 

The  conductor  came  around.  There  was  a 
look  of  trouble  on  Bildad's  face.  I  found  that 
he  had  not  become  accustomed  to  the  little  slip 
that  had  been  placed  in  his  hat.  "Ivry,"  he  said, 
"it's  a  piccayunish  thing  to  mind,  but  do  you 
know  it  riles  me  every  time  that  captin  puts  one 
of  them  things  in  my  hat.  It's  too  much  like 
brandin'  steers  or  ticketin'  punkins  and  roosters 
out  at  the  State  Fair."  I  tried  to  explain  the 
utility  and  necessity  of  the  slip,  but  even  then  he 
was  not  satisfied. 

After  criticising  some  hill-side  plowing  that 
was  being  done  in  a  field  to  the  right,  my  com 
panion  looked  at  me  a  moment  and  said : 

"Ivry,  you  think  I'm  'shamed  of  myself,  aint 
you?  about  that  baseball  bisness?  Well,  I  haint 
one  bit.  I  haint  only  been  tawkin'  about  it,  but  I 


1 66  BILDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

went  to  the  game  this  very  evenin'.  I  mout  as 
well  tell  you  that  ever  sence  I  was  a  boy  at  the 
old  Pond  scool-house  and  played  "cat  and  town 
ball,"  I've  jest  naterally  hankered  arter  evry 
good  game  of  baseball  what  was  in  walkin'  or 
ridin'  distunce.  Why,  it's  like  hearin'  preechin' 
when  I  see  a  good  game.  I  larn  so  much  bout 
myself  and  others.  To  see  a  feller  hold  a  bat  jest 
like  he  was  a-goin'  to  miss  the  ball  minds  me  of 
these  fellers  who  never  spect  to  make  anything  in 
life,  and  never  does.  They  dont  spect  to  hit  the 
ball.  Then  to  see  a  man  what  has  got  on  a  base 
and  dont  wait  fer  a  ball  to  put  him  on  another 
base  jest  teaches  me  that  it  wont  always  do  fer 
a  feller  to  wait  for  somethin'  to  turn  up,  as  old 
Big  Sellers  has  been  a-doin'.  It  takes  the  best 
quality  of  brains  to  play  a  good  game,  and  it  jest 
pintedly  stirs  all  the  bile  in  me  to  see  two  good 
teams  a-playin  agin  one  another.  It'd  help  you, 
Ivry,  ef  you  would  take  more  intrust  in  sich.  No, 
I  aint  got  a  thing  to  be  'shamed  of;  even  ef  I  am 
a  Stewart  in  the  church." 

I  assured  Bildad  that  if  he  did  not  have  laid 
up  against  him  any  sin  more  grievous  than  that  of 
liking  baseball,  his  account  with  the  Recording 
Angel  was  all  right. 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  Bildad's  conscience 


THE  CHURCH   PAPER.  167 

had  seeemd  so  clear,  my  assurance  that  I  at 
tached  no  blame  to  him  seemed  to  please  him. 
But  he  put  his  mouth  close  to  my  ear  and  said 
in  a  subdued  tone.  "You  needn't  tell  Lizy  'bout 
my  goin'  to  the  game  this  evenin'.  I  tell  her  'bout 
everything,  but  wimmin  is  so  quare,  what's  the 
use  of  botherin'  them  with  things  they  caint  un 
derstand  and  may  make  a  fuss  about?" 

The  train  roared  on.  The  conversation  lagged 
and  finally  stopped.  Bildad  was  nodding.  I  al 
lowed  him  to  sleep.  This,  however,  was  only  for 
a  few  minutes.  The  voice  of  the  porter  calling 
a  station  waked  him.  He  rubbed  his  eyes  and 
yawned.  Then  he  said :  "Ivry,  how  is  the  Advo 
cate?" 

I  told  him  that  the  Advocate  would  be  getting 
along  finely  if  we  could  only  keep  any  money 
in  the  treasury;  that  unpaid  subscriptions  were 
bothering  us,  especially  in  the  summer  season; 
that  we  had  a  good  many  friends  among  the 
subscribers,  but  that  a  large  number  would  take 
the  paper  as  long  as  we  would  not  say  anything 
about  pay,  but,  that  the  moment  we  would  ask 
them  for  their  subscription,  they  would  get  mad 
and  stop  the  paper.  I  dwelt  for  a  while  on  the 
fact  that  the  "Old  Raleigh"  is,  with  one  excep 
tion,  the  only  first  class  religious  paper  in  South- 


l68  BIU>AD  AKEJRS:  HIS  BOOK. 

ern  Methodism  which  is  supporting  itself  from 
only  one-half  of  a  State.  I  closed  by  saying, 
"If  we  had  more  friends  like  you.  Brother  Akers. 
we  would  sweep  everything." 

The  old  man  slowly  shook  his  head,  and  said : 
"We  have  got  some  quare  fellers  among  us 
Methdists.  I  met  up  with  one  of  'em  last  week. 
I  was  a  hitchin'  my  hoss  at  the  post-office  when 
Jeems  Sedly  come  out  with  a  letter  in  his  han. 
He  was  mad  as  fire.  I  said,  Jeems,  what's  the 
matter?  Jeems  said,  'Jest  look  thar,'  and  he 
handed  me  the  letter.  I  tuk  it  and  read  it  and 
seed  where  you  was  a-axin'  him  to  send  you 
some  money,  sence  he  was  three  year  behind.  I 
said,  'Jeems  that's  all  right.  Why  dont  you 
anty  up?'  He  said:  'That's  a  dun,  and  I  hate 
duns  like  snakes.'  I  said:  'That's  quare.  Ef  I 
owe  a  man  anythin'  and  haint  antied  up,  I  caint 
blame  the  man  for  wantin'  his  money  and  tellin' 
me  so/  'Well,'  said  Jeems,  'I  prescribed  for  only 
a  year.'  I  axed  Jeems  if  he  had  paid  for  a  year. 
He  scratched  his  head  and  said  he  hadn't,  but 
lowed  to  do  it.  But  they  want  me  to  pay  for  the 
time  ever  sence  then.  This  is  eight  times  they 
have  wrote  me,  and  I  am  gittin'  tired  of  it.' 
'Well,  have  you  wrote  for  'em  to  stop  the  paper  ?' 
says  I.  'No,'  he  says,  'they  knowd  I  prescribed 


THE  CHURCH  PAPER.  169 

for  only  a  year.  They  ought  to  have  stopped  the 
paper.'  'Why  didn't  you  stop  it  by  not  takin'  it 
out  of  the  office?'  says  I.  'You  knowd  ef  them 
Advocate  fellers  stopped  the  paper  thout  your 
orderin'  it  stopped,  you  would  have  got  your 
dander  up,  and  would  cuse  em  of  not  wantin'  to 
credick  you  and  prehaps  cuss  'em.  Ef  you  was 
too  no-count  to  write  'em,  why  in  the  name  of 
common-sence  did  you  keep  on  takin'  the  paper 
out  of  the  office?  You  wouldnt  write  to  'em, 
and  you  kept  on  takin'  the  paper  and  readin'  it, 
and  how  in  the  name  of  common-sence  and  re- 
lijun  can  you  be  agin  payin'  'em?'  Jeems  only 
said  he  wasn't  agwine  to  pay  even  ef  he  had  been 
readin'  the  paper  all  this  time.  Well,  I  seed  it 
was  no  use  to  talk  to  him  any  more.  I  left  him, 
and  as  I  left,  I  says  to  myself:  'I  trust  to  the 
good  Lord  the  "Old  Roily"  haint  got  many  like 
Jeems  to  fool  with.  He  needs  both  sense  and 
relijun.' ': 

I  assured  Bildad,  that  we  had  so  many  good, 
true  men  and  women  among  our  readers,  that, 
if  he  didn't  mind,  we  would  not  talk  on  the  sub 
ject  any  more.  It  was  a  sore  subject  with  me, 
and  had  given  us  more  trouble  than  anything 
else  connected  with  the  paper. 

But  Bildad  was  not  willing  to  leave  the  sub- 


I7O  BILDAD  AKERSI  HIS  BOOK. 

ject  altogether.  He  said :  "I  have  got  an  idee  in 
my  head  which  has  been  buzzin'  thar  ever  sence 
I  hearn  you  at  the  Deestrict.  You  said  down 
thar  in  your  speech  that  Methdism  wont  never 
d'liver  the  goods  (you  didn't  say  it  adzactly  in 
them  words)  ontell  our  peeple  git  to  knowin' 
more  about  the  church — not  one  siety,  but  the 
whole  church.  You  said  peeple  had  to  know 
what  their  church  was  doin'  afore  they  could 
feel  a  rale  intrust  in  it,  and  that  they  would  never 
do  anythin'  ontell  they  felt  this  intrust." 

"Now,  I've  thought  a  heap  bout  what  you  said, 
and  I  have  just  lit  on  this,  which  I  believe  is  a 
fack,  that  one  of  the  pint  blank  things  that  is 
ailin'  our  church  is  that  our  peeple  dont  know 
nothin'  about  their  church." 

"Do  you  know  our  preacher  said  he  was 
a-ridin'  on  the  train  once  talkin'  to  a  Piscopal 
Bishup,  and  up  comes  one  of  his  town  Stewarts, 
worth  sites  of  money  and  playin  Big  Ike  in  the 
church.  He  was  interduced  to  the  Piscopal 
Bishup,  and  he  axed  him  to  come  to  his  town 
and  preach  in  his  church.  He  didn't  know  the 
names  of  our  own  Bishups.  He  didn't  take  his 
church  paper,  and  didn't  know  a  Bishup  from  a 
side  of  sole  leather,  and  he  thought  the  Piscopal 


THE  CHURCH   PAPER.  171 

Bishup  was  a  big  Methdist.  How  docs  that  strike 
you — and  him  a  Stewart?" 

"You  know  I  went  to  that  Deestrict  two  years 
ago  whar  our  Bishup  preached.  I  et  dinner  whar 
he  et  one  day.  Bob  Toole  was  thar.  You  know 
Bob.  He's  a  big  Methdist  on  big  occashuns,  and 
when  thar's  payin'  to  be  did.  Well,  Bob  Toole 
tried  to  play  big  when  he  was  a-talkin'  to  the 
Bishup.  He  told  the  Bishup  all  about  his  fine 
house,  and  big  bizness,  and  how  they  was  goin' 
to  put  a  big  winder  in  the  new  church  when  they 
buried  him.  But  he  busted  every  thing  to  pieces 
when  he  axed  the  Bishup  what  stashun  he  sarved 
when  he  was  at  home.  An  old  codger  like  me 
had  more  sence  than  that.  Bob  didnt  know  any 
thing  about  his  church.  How  could  he,  when  he 
never  seed  his  church  paper  in  his  life? 

"Now,  what  are  we  goin'  to  do  with  Methdists 
like  that,  and  how  are  we  goin'  to  make  any  other 
kmd  ceptin'  we  git  them  to  read  the  church 
paper?" 

"My  idee  is  this,"  continued  Bildad,  after  he 
had  expectorated  out  of  the  window.  "We've  got 
to  sess  the  Church  members  for  puttin'  the  church 
paper  into  the  hands  of  all  the  people  jest  like 
we  sess  em  for  mishuns  and  eddication  and  sich, 
and  then  let  the  whole  church  or  the  Confearance 


172  BILDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

run  the  paper  and  charge  no  prescription  price. 
We've  got  to  larn  the  people  bout  their  church 
doin's  jest  as  we  larn  them  about  these  other 
things  that  we're  sessed  fer.  I  don't  believe 
we  are  gwine  to  work  out  our  sums  which  so 
many  are  scratchin'  their  heads  over  ontell  we 
do  this.  What  do  you  think  of  that  idee,  Ivry?" 

I  had  to  say  that  it  looked  plausible,  and  that 
a  plan  of  this  kind  would  make  a  new  Methodism. 

By  this  time  our  train  had  run  up  to  a  small 
station  and  was  just  pulling  out  when  Bildad 
rose  from  his  seat  and,  saying  only  "Bless  my 
soul !"  rushed  out  of  the  car.  It  was  his  station, 
and  the  last  view  of  him  showed  him  diving  into 
the  crowd  that  stood  in  front  of  the  depot. 


ADVICE  TO  FARMERS.* 


*This   letter  was  originally  published  in  THH  PRO 
GRESSIVE  FARMER. 


"How  in  the  world  a  man  which  grubs,  and  plows,  and 
feeds  hogs  and  cattle  and  sich  can  expect  to  make  a 
good  livin'  without  his  farm  paper  is  more'n  I  kin  sense." 
— Bildad  Akers. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

FEBUARY  8, 
IN  THE  YEER  OF  THE  LORD,  1906. 

DEER  PERGRESSIVE  FARMER: — We  was  settin' 
by  the  fire  last  night  and  I  says  to  Lizy,  "I've 
got  an  idee  of  writin'  to  the  Pergressive  Farm 
er."  Lizy  giv  me  one  of  them  looks  which  any 
man  who  has  a  woman  who  speaks  her  mind 
right  out  in  meetin'  knows,  and  she  looks  over  me 
kinder  pitiful  like  and  says,  "Bildad,  it  pears  to 
me  you  have  enough  to  do  writin'  to  your  church 
paper.  I'm  not  so  certen  but  you've  writ  too 
much  allreddy."  And  then  she  went  back  to  her 
nittin'. 

I  said,  "Lizy,  I've  got  idees.  They  may  be 
homemade  and  not  slicked  up  like  some,  but  I've 
larned  that  a  pair  of  nit  galluses  does  jest  as 
good  wurk  as  them  you  buy  in  stores.  I've  got 
the  idees,  and  it  pears  to  me  I  want  to  spout  em 
out  on  paper  jest  as  bad  as  wimmen  like  to  talk 
afore  and  arter  the  sarmont  in  a  meetin'  house. 
I  axed  our  preecher  last  meetin'  Sundy  why  he 
hadn't  writ  up  his  sirkut  and  he  said  he  was 
modest  and  was  afeared  some'un  would  say  he 
was  tryin'  to  be  heady  and  forrerd.  I  tole  him 
and  I  tell  you  that  our  Preecher's  stripe  of  mod- 


1/6  BILDAD  AKBfcS:  HIS  BOOK. 

esty  is  like  smut  on  wheat — good  for  nothin'  and 
bad  for  everything.  No,  I'm  goin'  to  write  to 
the  Pergressive  Farmer.  Its  my  duty.  Ive  bin 
takin'  that  paper  a  long  time." 

Yes,  Mr.  Po,  I've  bin  takin'  the  Farmer  for 
nigh  onto  twenty  yeer  onless  I  disremember.  I 
sometimes  git  arter  my  church  peeple  for  not 
takin'  their  paper  printed  in  Roily.  It  prints  a 
tipe  mighty  like  yours,  it  pears  to  me.  Now, 
my  pint  is:  A  man  what's  a  farmer  needs  your 
paper  jest  as  bad  as  a  man  what's  a  Methdist 
needs  Bro.  Ivry's  paper,  or  a  man  what's  a  Bap- 
tis  needs  Mr.  Baley's  paper.  How  in  the  world 
a  man  that  grubs  and  plows  and  feeds  hogs  and 
cattle  and  sich  can  expect  to  make  a  good  livin' 
without  having'  his  farm  paper  is  more'n  I  kin 
sense.  The  trubble  with  our  farmers  is  that  they 
don't  keep  up  with  the  times.  They  don't  see 
that  the  world  is  lopin'  on,  and  that  the  man  that 
wants  to  keep  up  must  jump  into  the  waggin. 
They  say  they  air  goin'  to  rejuce  the  number  of 
rewral  delivries  in  North  Calliny.  I  was  talkin' 
to  Bose  King  tother  day  bout  it,  and  I  says,  Bose, 
it'll  be  a  rank  tearin'  disgrace  to  our  State  ef  they 
take  down  them  boxes.  It'll  mean  that  our  ken- 
try  peeple  is  not  readin'  enough,  which  means 
that  they  are  not  keepin'  up  with  the  times. 


ADVICE  TO  FARMERS.  1/7 

I  allers  speaks  up  Mr.  Po,  for  the  Pergressive 
Farmer.  Ole  John  Bony  borrered  my  paper  tell 
I  sed  to  him  that  the  thing  had  to  stop  and  that 
he  must  take  it  himself.  When  you  greed  to  let 
him  have  it  for  a  leetle  while  for  ten  cents  you 
got  him.  Ef  it  had  bin  eleven  cents  you'd  a 
missed  fire,  like  an  ole  army  musket  with  a  wet 
cap.  But  John  got  started  and  I  seed  him  with 
your  paper  tother  day,  and  I  do  believe  that  he's 
subscribin'  regular,  aint  he? 

But  I'm  off  the  track  a  leetle  grain.  I  was 
lowin'  to  tell  you  that  I've  got  sense  enough  to 
know  a  few  things,  and  I  know  that  thar's  many 
new  things  goin'  on  in  the  farmin'  world  and 
that  the  farmer  must  take  his  farm  paper  to  find 
out  and  keep  up  with  em.  The  Pergressive  farm 
er  is  allus  givin'  us  something  new.  Thar  is 
plenty  of  picturs.  I  looked  at  one  of  your  animil 
picturs  not  long  ago  and  handed  it  over  to  Lizy, 
and  said,  That  thar  animal  is  feerfully  maid. 
Then  you  tell  us  all  about  vaxinatin'  the  sile.  I 
didn't  ketch  on  to  this  at  fust.  I  thought  vaxi 
natin'  a  man's  arm  was  a  plum  failure  and  I 
believe  so  now.  What  good  is  there  in  vaxinatin' 
the  sile?  I  sed  to  myself.  But  I'm  a  convart  to 
the  scheme. 

Now,  Mr.  Po,  I  dont  want  to  befuddle  any  of 
12 


178  BIU>AD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

your  readers  tryin'  to  make  em  believe  I'm  one 
of  your  big  farmers.  I  have  a  few  hunderd 
akers  and  I  work  evry  aker  to  its  very  levelest.  I 
thank  God  I  hav'nt  the  land  eetch.  Work  well 
what  you've  got  is  my  mottoe.  I  beleeve  in 
ditches  and  clean  creek  banks  and  teracin'  and  all 
that.  You  caint  find  a  brier  patch  on  my  farm, 
and  a  red  hillside  runs  from  me  like  a  skeeter 
from  pennyrile.  I  dont  plant  a  site  of  cotton  like 
some  of  my  nabors,  but  I  plant  enuf,  I  think.  I 
believe  in  divarsity  of  crops.  I  havent  bought  a 
bushel  of  corn  or  wheat  or  a  bale  of  hay  sence 
Lizy  and  me  moved  from  Pisga  township,  whar 
we  was  married.  I  haint  bought  any  hog  meat 
but  once  and  that  was  the  yeer  when  kolery  broke 
out  in  our  seckshun. 

But,  Mr.  Po,  what  hurts  me  most  is  so  many  of 
our  farmer  peeple  dont  know  a  good  thing  when 
they  see  it.  They  are  etarnally  wantin'  to  move 
to  town.  Lige  White  had  money  in  his  pocket 
tell  he  sold  his  farm  and  moved  to  Roily  whar  he 
went  into  keepin'  a  little  grosery  store.  I  met 
him  one  mornin'  front  of  his  store.  He  had  a 
yaller  weskit  that  no  decent  man  ought  to  wear 
'ceptin'  on  Sundy.  He  spoke  to  me,  axed  about 
things  in  the  ole  naborhood,  and  then  hitched 
me  to  one  side  and  sed  he  had  jest  been  to  the 


ADVICE  TO  FARMERS.  179 

bank  to  get  a  note  renued  and  that  he  was  jest 
thinkin'  afore  he  seed  me  of  what  a  blab-mouthed 
mistake  he  made  when  he  giv  up  farmin'.  He 
says,  Bildad,  ef  I  could  jest  go  back  to  turnin' 
up  the  sile  and  burnin'  bresh  and  walkin'  over  my 
farm  Sundy  evenin'  to  see  how  things  have 
growed,  and  smell  a  wheat  field  in  May,  and 
wash  my  face  at  the  well,  and  hear  the  crows,  and 
go  to  town  with  cotton  and  sell  truck  and  go 
back  and  go  to  sleep  at  a  goodly  hour  and  wake 
up  like  a  new  man  at  daylight,  I  would  be  happy 
agin." 

Mr.  Po,  write  all  you  can  about  our  farmer 
peeple  leavin'  of  the  kentry  and  warn  'em  agin  it. 

But  I've  writ  enough  fer  this  time.  Be  shore 
to  read  the  proof  well.  I  noticed  that  there  was 
some  mistakes  in  spellin'  in  my  last  letter  to  my 
church  paper. 

Yours  til  deth, 

With  all  my  breth, 

BILDAD  AKERS. 


HOW      BILDAD      AKERS      COLLECTED 
MOLT  HENRY'S  QUARTERAGE. 


"The  Bible  says,  'God  loves  a  cheerful  giver,'  dont  it? 
Then  don't  tell  me  He  loves  the  feller  when  gittin  any 
thing  from  him  for  the  preecher  or  mishuns  is  like  fishin' 
fer  a  well  bucket  with  a  pair  o'  grabs  with  one  prong." — 
Bildad  Akers. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

Hearing  that  my  old  friend,  Bildad  Akers,  was 
in  town,  a  visitor  at  his  daughter's  home,  I  called 
on  him  after  tea.  I  felt  that  this  would  be  my 
only  chance  of  seeing  him,  as  I  surmised  that  the 
recent  lectures  of  his  wife,  "Lizy,"  on  the  evils 
of  publicity  had  fortified  him  with  the  determina 
tion  to  keep  away  from  the  Advocate  office — at 
least  for  a  season. 

I  found  that  I  had  called  rather  too  early. 
Bildad  and  the  family  were  at  dinner.  While  I 
was  wondering,  as  I  sat  alone  in  the  sitting  room, 
what  was  being  said  by  Bildad  during  the  meal 
which  he  always  called  "supper,"  he  made  his 
appearance  in  the  doorway.  He  was  brushing 
some  crumbs  from  his  mouth,  as  I  rose  to  shake 
his  hand. 

To  the  stereotyped  question,  "How  are  you 
feeling,  brother  Akers?"  the  answer  came  in  the 
words:  "Middlm'  jest  and  kinder  holler." 

He  must  have  seen  a  perplexed  look  on  my  face, 
for,  coming  nearer  and  lowering  his  voice,  he 
said :  "I  don't  want  to  hurt  Sally's  feelins',  and  I 
don't  want  to  talk  about  what  a  visiter  shouldn't 
never  talk  about,  but  the  rale  bald-headed  fact  is, 
I  do  feel  kinder  holler  in  my  inner  works.  These 


184  BILDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

town  eatin's  dont  suit  me.  I'm  used  to  havin'  a 
plain  old-fashioned  supper  eended  off  with  a  bait 
of  some  kind  of  guarden  sass  like  cold  cabbige 
or  beans  this  time  o'  year.  Now  Sally,  she  got 
in  yander  a  fine  table,  I  reckin, — plenty  of  silver 
and  plates  in  the  shape  of  gourds  and  sich,  but 
the  bread  was  cut  up  in  leetle  squares,  and  what 
do  you  reckin  were  betwixt  em?  Nothin'  but  a 
slice  of  tomater.  Sallie  tole  me  she  sometime 
fries  'em.  Now,  what  do  you  think  of  that? 
I  shorely  didn't  raise  her  that  away.  Its  some 
collige  doin's  she  larned  when  I  eddicated  her. 
Them  green  plum-like  things  that  is  all  seed 
she  had  too.  I  come  nigh  forgittin'  and  tryin' 
to  slice  em  with  my  knife  like  I  did  at  the  Dee- 
strict  a  cupple  or  so  of  years  ago.  The  whole 
layout  didn't  fill  me  up  like  I'm  used  to.  So  I  feel 
kinder  holler,  you  know." 

This  was  plain,  characteristic  talk  on  the  part 
of  the  old  man,  and  while  I  could  hardly  repress 
a  smile  while  he  was  talking,  I  felt  moved  by  a 
warm  sympathy  for  him;  for,  doubtless,  he  had 
eaten  an  early  dinner,  and  his  vitals  demanded 
the  purely  substantial. 

After  delivering  himself  of  his  views,  Bildad 
sat  down  on  a  couch.  He,  rough,  untutored,  and 
big,  and  the  couch,  richly  upholstered  and  fragile 


MOLT  HENRY'S  QUARTERAGE;.  185 

looking,  made  a  pitcure  which  represented  incon 
gruity,  if  nothing  else. 

A  few  words  concerning  the  little  commonali 
ties  was  passed.  Then,  Bildad,  rising  from  his 
seemingly  uncomfortable  position,  yawned,  and, 
raising  botn  arms,  gave  himself  a  mighty  stretch. 
'"Let's  git  ou  t  of  here,  Ivry,"  he  said.  "Its 
mighty  comfortin'  in  here,  and  my  peeple  will  be 
in  terrectly,  but  ef  I  stay  I  will  be  shore  to  go  to 
sleep.  Lets  get  out  in  the  ar." 

This  suggestion  suited  me,  and  I  proposed  tak 
ing  a  walk,  after  having  spoken  to  the  rest  of  the 
family.  The  evening  was  fine.  A  silver  moon 
rode  in  a  sky  as  free  from  cloud  as  on  a  frosty 
December  morning.  There  was  not  a  ripple  in 
the  dense  foliage  of  the  maples  as  yet  untouched 
by  the  brush  of  autumn.  The  full  blue  of  the 
sky  shaded  off  to  the  west  into  that  pearly  glow 
which  is  characteristic  of  September  skies.  There 
was  inspiration  in  all  that  the  eye  could  see.  It 
was  a  refreshing  newly-brewed  cup  which  nature 
held  to  the  lips  of  the  aesthetic  soul.  I  do  not 
know  that  my  companion  took  as  full  a  draught 
as  I  did.  He  was  in  a  mood  for  opening  his 
heart  and  using  his  tongue,  and,  as  we  walked 
along,  he  gave  me  fresh  glimpses  of  his  vigorous 
unnue  nature. 


l86  BItDAD  AKURS:  HIS  BOOJt. 

I  asked  him  how  the  circuit  was  going  to  come 
out  on  the  wind-up  before  Conference.  I  knew 
that  I  had  asked  him  a  question  which  he  would 
be  glad  to  answer.  Because  Bildad  Akers  made 
God  first  in  his  heart  and  life,  he  had  made  his 
church  the  principal  institution  in  all  the  domain 
of  his  citizenship. 

"Well,  Ivry,"  he  said,  "I'm  a  hopin'  we'll  come 
out  at  the  big  eend  of  the  horn.  Bildad  Akers 
has  never  yit  saw  his  church  come  out  at  tother 
eend — and  he  wont  as  long  as  he  is  above  ground 
and  can  tawk,  and  ride,  and  get  money  in  hand, 
house,  horses,  hawgs,  and  sich.  That's  me." 

"But  I've  had  a  hard  time  as  Stewart  for  many 
a  yeer,  and  the  longer  I'm  a  Stewart,  the  more  I 
see  into  the  cussedness  of  some  of  the  human 
natur  that  some  Methdists  has.  How  the  good 
Lord  stands  em  I  caint  see.  Sich  dodgin'  and 
complainin',  and  cussin'  and  lyin',  a  rale  Methd- 
ist  Stewart  does  run  up  ferninst.  Its  got  so  most 
men  are  scared  to  take  hold  of  the  bisness,  and 
when  a  man  hangs  on  to  the  office,  he's  got  to 
do  nothin',  or  else  take  the  bit  in  his  teath  and 
go  ahead  as  a  sufferer  for  Christ's  sake." 

"How  did  we  ever  begin  gittin'  into  the  church 
them  people  who  would  ruther  have  a  tooth 
pulled  than  to  give  anythin'  to  the  Lord?  To 


MOLT  HENRY'S  QUARTERAGE.  187 

hear  em  shout  and  sing  and  "brother"  and  "sis 
ter"  at  the  meetin's,  you'd  think  they  was  sproutin' 
wings  for  Heaven.  But  to  see  'em  makin'  faces 
and  groanin'  and  complainin',  as  they  hand  out 
their -little  twenty-five  cent  pieces  to  the  Stewart 
jest  afore  Confearance,  you'd  think  they  was  jest 
from  the  pore-house,  and  that  it  was  big  me  and 
little  God  with  them.  And  it  is,  Ivry.  Don't  you 
tell  me  that  God  raly  loves  sich  people.  The 
Bible  says  'God  loves  a  cheerful  giver/  dont  it? 
Then  dont  tell  me  He  loves  the  feller  when  gittin' 
anything  from  him  fer  the  preecher  or  mishuns 
is  like  fishin'  fer  a  well  bucket  with  a  one  prong 
pair  of  grabs.  I  have  got  some  idees  on  this  sub 
ject  what  I  want  to  see  in  the  Advocate.  Lizy 
says  I  mosey  about  too  much  in  the  colyums  of 
your  paper  allready  but  I  must  drap  you  a  few 
lines  on  these  idees  afore  long." 

The  conversation  brought  up  in  my  mind  a 
question  on  which  I  had  several  times  intended 
to  draw  Bildad  Akers  out.  It  was  as  to  how  he 
had  ever  succeeded  in  getting  twenty-five  dollars 
for  the  Church  from  Molt  Henry.  So  I  asked 
Bildad  to  tell  me  all  about  it.  By  this  time  we 
were  passing  a  drug  store,  and  I  suggested  to 
him  that  we  might  go  in  and  take  some  refresh- 


l88  BIU5AD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

ing  light  drink.  I  had  forgotten  the  other  time 
when  I  had  made  the  same  proposition. 

"None  fer  me,"  he  said.  "I  was  raised  on 
spring  water  and  butter-milk,  and  when  you  see 
Bildad  Akers  suckin'  furrin'  truck  through  a  yal- 
ler  quill,  you  know  he  has  back-slided." 

"Now  about  Molt  Henry.  I  dont  hope  the 
feller  no  harm.  He's  my  neighbor,  and  he  calls 
himself  a  Methdist.  Talk  about  angels  a-laffin' 
fer  joy  over  the  convarsion  of  sinners,  but  I  think 
there  must  have  been  some  laffin'  among  a  whole 
passel  of  em,  when  I  got  that  hunk  of  money  from 
Molt  Henry." 

"You  see,  Molt  has  been  a  Methdist  fer  a  long 
time.  He's  knowd  down  in  my  settlemint  as  the 
only  Methdist  who  had  been  able  to  keep  his 
church  standin'  fer  twenty-five  yeer  without 
payin'  a  red  copper  to  the  church.  You  know  he's 
as  smart  as  blazes  to  be  able  to  do  that.  Yit  he  has 
did  that  very  thing.  The  Stewarts  has  got  arter 
him.  He'd  put  em  off  fer  one  reason  or  tothef 
till  jest  afore  Confearance.  Then  he'd  give  em  a 
wuthless  order  or  jew  bill  or  sich,  and  that  was 
the  eend  of  it  for  that  yeer.  The  next  yeer  the 
Stewarts  would  be  afeard  to  mention  the  back 
pay  to  him.  They  thought  by  not  mentionin'  it 
they  mout  git  somethin'  at  the  eend  of  the  yeer. 


MOI/T  HENRY'S  QUARTERAGE.  189 

But  it  was  no  go.     It  went  that  way  yeer  arter 
yeer. 

"Up  to  that  time  he  had  kept  his  money  in  his 
pocket  (he's  got  money,  the  ole  rascal)  and  his 
standin'  in  the  church  too.  Why,  he's  the  big 
gest  man  at  our  meetin's.  One  time  the  preecher 
preeched  a  sarmont  on  robbin'  God  by  not  bringin' 
tithes  into  the  store-house,  and  said  every  mem 
ber  who  hadnt  paid  nothin'  to  God  oughter  to  be 
ashamed  of  themselves.  He  said  it  was  a  blasted 
shame  fer  a  church  siety  with  thousands  of  dol 
lars  to  have  God  go  round  beggin'  fer  a  leetle 
fifty  dollar  from  em.  Molt  fust  turned  and  then 
sot  with  his  back  to  the  preecher,  and  then  got 
up  and  walked  out  of  the  meetin'.  He  told  Bill 
Bent  who  was  settin'  outside  with  a  gigglin'  gal 
in  a  buggy  that  the  preecher  had  singed  his 
feelins'  all  over.  He  lowed  that  a  member  who 
had  sung  and  shouted  as  much  as  he  had  fer  that 
church  ought  to  be  crederted  with  somethin',  and 
oughtn't  to  be  insulted  like  a  mangy  dog." 

"But  Molt  got  over  that.  He  had  a  heap  of 
gall,  but  not  enough  to  play  that  racket  long.  So 
he  got  to  goin'  back,  and  once  when  the  preecher 
in  his  sarmont  hollered  out  in  a  drermatic  way, 
'It's  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive,'  Molt 
hollered  out  Amen  loucl  enough  to  be  hearn  down 


IQO  BIIvDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

to  the  forks  of  the  road.  Arter  that  he  seemed 
to  consider  his  standin'  sot  up  agin." 

"Well,  it  was  not  long  arter  that  when  Molt 
bought  that  track  down  on  the  river  and  moved 
nigh  me.  We  was  neighbors.  He  built  him  a 
right  nice  house.  He  was  allers  good  at  makin' 
money,  ef  he  is  no  count.  So  the  Stewarts  that 
yeer  give  me  Molt's  name.  The  Stewart  who 
had  him  was  mighty  glad.  He  said  I  was  wel 
come  to  him.  I  didn't  say  nothin'.  But,  Ivry, 
you've  never  lived  in  the  kentry,  and  you  dont 
know  nothin'  about  weasuls  and  sich.  I  had  a 
hunderd  chickins  kilt  one  yeer  by  a  measley 
weasul.  I  watched  fer  that  weasul  fer  nearly  a 
yeer.  But  I  didnt  watch  fer  him  as  much  by  a 
sight  as  I  watched  fer  Molt  Henry  to  get  some 
money  from  him.  He  was  as  cunnin'  as  that 
weasul  and  as  slick  as  a  otter.  On  every  'casion 
he  escaped  from  my  hands.  Confearance  was  a 
comin'  on,  and  I  was  raly  afeared  that  I  was 
a-goin'  to  make  a  plum  failure  of  Molt  Henry." 

"But  Proverdence  hoped  me,  Ivry.  It  wasnt 
no  luck.  It  was  pure  blank  Proverdence. 

"This  is  the  way  it  was.  Jest  afore  confearance 
I  was  over  to  Hinton  one  day.  That's  our  regular 
tradin'  place,  you  know.  I  was  talkin'  to  Hines 
in  his  offus,  when  Sim  Blalock  cum  in.  Hines 


MOLT  HENRY'S  QUARTERAGE.  191 

and  Blalock  are  both  great  Methdists.  They  was 
a  axin'  me  about  matters  on  the  sirkut,  the 
preecher,  the  Confearance,  etc.  I  told  'em  all 
about  my  troubles  as  Stewart,  specially  bout  the 
time  I  was  havin'  with  Molt  Henry.  When  I 
mentioned  Molt's  name  I  saw  a  quare-like  look 
come  into  Sim's  face.  He  said :  "Come  out  to  the 
lot,  Bildad.  I  want  to  show  you  the  likeliest  hoss 
you  ever  sot  your  eyes  on."  I  went  with  him. 
He  did  show  me  his  hoss,  which  was  no  shakes, 
but  he  took  me  to  one  side  and  told  me  how  I 
could  manage  Molt.  When  he  told  me,  I  felt 
almost  as  proud  somehow  as  when  I  got  jined 
in  marriage  to  Lizy,  and  I  give  Sim  an  extra 
squeeze  of  the  hand  when  I  left  him." 

"I  went  by  Molt's  house  that  evenin'.  As  I 
rid  up  I  seed  him  at  the  barn,  and  he  was  sad- 
dlin'  a  hoss  as  fast  as  he  could.  I  knowd  he  was 
goin'  to  take  the  road  to  the  crick.  So  I  takes 
a  lane  leadin'  to  the  barn  and  cuts  him  off  afore 
he  thought  I  had  retched  the  house.  He  was 
mighty  glad  to  see  me,  he  said.  He  said  he  was  so 
glad  I  had  come  as  soon  as  I  had,  'fer'  says  he, 
'I  was  about  to  ride  over  to  the  mill  place  and 
I  would  have  missed  you.'  " 

"Without  any  p's  and  q's,  I  told  him  my  bis- 
ness.  He  knocked  a  fly  offen  his  hoss,  studied  a 


IQ2  BIUDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

while  and  said:  "I  reckin,  Brother  Akers,  you 
Stewarts  has  a  hard  time.  Peeple  ought  to  be  so 
willin'  to  give  that  it  would  be  a  pleasure  fer  you 
to  do  your  work."  'Eggsactly,'  says  I.  Thert 
he  went  and  looked  up  into  the  winder  of  the 
barn  loft,  the  Lord  knows  why,  and  then  come 
back,  and  cleareu  .^s  throat  and  said :  'Brother 
Akers,  I  am  sorry  to  put  you  off,  sence  Confear- 
ance  is  so  nigh,  but  I  guess  I'll  have  to  do  it  onless 
you  kin  wait  ontell  next  Monday.'  I  knowd  he 
was  usin'  the  same  old  tricks  on  me,  and  I  knowd 
what  I  wanted.  So  I  says:  'I  am  powerful  anx 
ious  to  fix  up  my  list  by  to-morrow/  which  was 
Sunday.  'Well,'  says  Molt,  'I  guess  I'll  have  to 
give  you  a  jew  bill.'  His  .die  jew  bill  had  been 
worn  to  a  frazzle  in  the  pockets  of  other  Stewarts. 
'Eggsactly,  Molt,'  says  I.  'Here's  a  pensul  and 
a  piece  of  paper.  Write  off  your  jew  bill.'  He 
looked  pleased  a  sight.  He  said,  'Brother  Akers, 
the  church  needs  all  the  money  it  can  git,  and  as 
I  had  to  fall  a  leetle  short  last  year,  I'll  stretch 
myself  this  year.'  I  knowd  the  least  he  intended 
to  give  anything,  the  bigger  he  had  always  made 
his  jew  bill.  So  he  laid  the  paper  on  the  saddle 
and  writ  somethin'.  It  was  a  jew  bill  fer  twenty- 
five  dollar  to  be  paid  outen  the  fust  money  he 
should  git.  He  had  wrote  sich  jew  bills  for  stew- 


MOLT  HENRY'S  QUARTERAGE.  193-: 

arts  afore,  but  it  shorely  meant  somethin'  this, 
time,  though  he  didn't  sense  it  a  bit." 

"He  said :  'Go  in  the  house  and  eat  a  bite.  I'll 
have  to  leave  you  a  spell.'  I  said,  'Hold  on,  Molt,, 
I've  got  somethin'  fer  you.  I  seed  Sim  Blalock 
over  to  Hinton  today  and  he  axed  me  to  fetch- 
you  fifty  dollar  which  he  said  he  owed  you  on 
that  piece  of  land  you  sold  him,'  and  I  handed 
him  twenty-five  dollar.  He  knowed  what  that 
meant.  Ef  you  ever  saw  a  face  turn  green  and 
yaller  at  the  same  time,  it  was  Molt's  face.  He 
started  to  say  somethin',  but  he  changed  his  mind 
and  writ  out  a  receet  fer  fifty  dollar.  I  said 
goodbye  and  left." 

"They  said  it  made  Molt  sick  and  that  he  laid  ^ 
abed  about  all  day  Saddy.     But  he  was  out  to  , 
meetin'  on  Sunday  and  sot  one  bench  nigher  the  . 
pulpit  than  afore.     When  I  nounced  that  Molt 
had  paid  twenty-five  dollar,  fifteen  dollar  more'a  , 
he  was  sessed,  the  Stewarts  could  hardly  take  it 
in.    When  I  tole  em  how  it  was  done,  they  wanted 
to  draw  up  a  set  of  thank  resolutions.     But  I 
wouldnt  let  em.     That's    how    I    c'lected  Molt 
Henry's  quarterage." 

"As  I  said,  Proverdence  come  to  my  help  and 
He  shorely  done  it  bekase  I  had  His  cause  on  „ 
my  mind  and  heart.  Ef  I  hadn't  been  thinkin'  and  j 
13 


•194  BILDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

talkin'  about  His  bisness  over  to  Hinton  on  a 
week-day,  Sim  Blalock  would  not  have  give  me 
that  money  and  Molt  could  never  have  a  played 
into  my  hands.  Don't  you  see  when  a  Stewart  is 
a  workin'  all  the  time  fer  Ole  Marster  he's  goin' 
to  do  somethin?" 

I  felt  the  force  of  the  reasoning  and  appreci 
ated  the  lesson. 

By  this  time  we  had  returned  to  Bildad's  stop 
ping  place.  The  moonlight  and  the  trees  had 
laid  the  pavement  with  a  mosaic  as  beautiful  as 
Florentine  art  could  produce,  and  the  peaceful 
stillness  of  the  piazza  was  a  silent  invitation  for 
me  to  prolong  the  interview,  but  I  knew  that  it 
was  time  for  my  old  friend  to  be  in  bed.  So  I 
bade  him  goodnight. 


THE  CREED  OF  BILDAD  AKERS. 


"A  pusson  never  gits  so  nigh  to  God  as  when  he  is 
carryin'  erlong  with  him  some  other  pusson  he  has  been 
prayin'  fer." — Bildad  Akers. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

It  was  on  one  of  those  golden  afternoons  in 
latter  autumn  that  I  sat  in  my  office  and  stole  a 
respite  from  exacting  editorial  labors  to  look  out 
through  the  open  window  into  the  full  glory  of 
the  afternoon.  Above  the  noisy  street  arched  a 
pale  blue  sky  which  seemed  to  smile  a  benediction 
on  all  things  below.  The  maple  trees  on  the 
edge  of  the  side-walk  wore  orange  robes  more 
beautiful  than  the  far-famed  mantles  which  grace 
the  shoulders  of  an  eastern  princess.  Each  glow 
ing  leaf  seemed  to  emit  an  amber  radiance  as 
soft  as  that  which  shines  through  alabaster,  and 
the  whole  glorious  crown  of  foliage  shook  down 
a  flood  of  softened  radiance  which  one  can  see  at 
any  time  in  a  grove  of  maple  trees  in  Octeber. 
Part  of  the  golden  flood  was  gushing  through 
the  window,  overflowing  the  whole  room,  and 
filling  my  soul  with  the  music  of  tides  that 
beat  on  no  visible  shore.  I  was  noting  the 
new  beauty  added  by  the  amber  light  to  the  red 
and  white  roses  in  a  vase  on  the  desk,  when  a 
visitor  was  ushered  in.  He  came  in  with  heavy 
step  and  a  hale  bluff  salutation,  bringing  with 
him,  it  seemed,  an  atmosphere  of  keen  throbbing 
realism — an  atmosphere,  carried,  as  you  have 


198  BILDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

doubtless   perceived,   by   every   vibrant   positive 
soul. 

I  was  not  sorry  to  see  Bildad  Akers.  The  in 
visible  light  which  streamed  from  his  simple  white 
nature  harmonized  with  the  visible  glow  of  the 
maples  and  the  whole  color  tone  of  the  drowsing 
October  afternoon. 

He  did  not  sit  down  at  first.  He  said  that  he 
was  "jest  passin'  through  on  his  way  home  from 
a  sale  and  thought  that  he  would  have  time  to 
drap  in  fer  a  few  minutes  and  see  as  how  Ivry 
was  gittin'  on." 

I  thanked  him  for  such  consideration  and  such 
a  favor  and  begged  him  to  be  seated.  With  the 
statement  that  he  couldn't  stay  long,  he  sat  down 
on  the  other  side  of  the  desk. 

While  going  through  the  inevitable  conven 
tional  preliminaries  of  conversation,  which  seem 
to  be  instinctively  demanded  when  two  friends 
meet,  I  noticed  that  the  lines  around  Bildad's 
mouth  were  not  as  sharply  drawn  as  usual.  There 
was  undoubtedly  in  his  eyes  a  softer  look  than 
they  generally  hold,  and  there  was  in  the  tones 
of  his  voice  a  caressing  tenderness  which  was 
almost  foreign  to  him.  I  was  so  impressed  with 
these  changes  that  I  ventured  to  say,  "You  feel 
good  to-day,  don't  you?" 


THE  CREED  OF  BILDAD  AKERS.  199 

The  reply  was,  "I  gess  I  feel  purty  peart  fer 
a  man  of  my  yeers.  I  have  jest  come  from  a  sale 
whar  I  made  a  good  trade.  I  don't  owe  no  man 
nothin',  and  I  have  a  sight  o'  good  frends.  I 
reckin  tho  ef  I  pear  to  be  feelin'  onushially  good 
its  bekase  of  what  I  seed  and  felt  at  our  meetin' 
at  Ebenezer  a  week  afore  last.  It  peared  to  me 
that  I  got  nigher  to  God  endurin'  that  meetin' 
than  I  had  got  in  a  long  time.  I  had  been  pray- 
in'  fer  yeers  fer  too  men  who  growed  up  with 
me — good  nabors  and  havin'  good  pints,  but  they 
was  jest  so  onthinkin'  and  keerless  that  they  had 
allmost  lowed  salvashun  to  slip  by  'em.  As  I 
said,  I  had  been  pray  in'  fer  yeers  fer  them  too 
nabors,  and  evry  time  a  meetin'  past  by  leavinr 
them  men  out  in  the  dark  of  sin,  it  throwed  a- 
kind  of  damper  on  my  enjyment  of  the  meetin'. 
But  at  the  last  meetin'  they  give  under  and  come 
out  on  the  Lord's  side.  They  are  mighty  happy 
men  now,  but  I  caint  beleeve  that  they  are  as 
happy  as  the  man  who  has  been  prayin'  fer  em  so 
many  yeer.  I've  got  a  heftier  faith  in  God's 
promuss  to  answer  pra'r,  and  when  he  tuk  them 
men  into  his  fold  it  peared  that  he  leaned  outer 
the  winder  and  give  Bildad  Akers  a  smile  which 
jest  went  to  his  hart  and  is  thar  yit.  Maybe 
that's  why  you  axed  me  ef  I  wasn't  feelin'  good 


2OO  BILDAD  AKERS :  HIS  BOOK. 

terday.  A  pusson  never  gits  so  nigh  to  God  as 
when  he  is  carryin'  erlong  with  him  some  soul  he 
has  been  prayin'  fer.  Yes,  that's  so,  Ivry." 

It  was  evident  that  the  Christ-Man  held  domin 
ion  over  the  rugged  soul  of  Bildad  Akers.  I  said : 
"Bildad,  I've  known  you,  it  seems  to  me,  a  long 
time.  We  have  talked  about  many  things,  but  I 
have  never  heard  you  tell  your  religious  experi 
ence." 

"Yes,  that's  so,"  said  Bildad.  "Maybe  you 
don't  know  that  I  have  what  you  might  call  a 
quare  noshun  of  relijus  experunce.  I  don't  be- 
leeve  a  man's  rale  relijus  experunce  is  made  up 
of  what  he  feels  and  does  at  them  odd  times 
when  he  rastles  in  pra'r  or  gits  a  blessin'  at  a 
meetin',  or  anything  like  that.  Of  cose,  at  them 
times,  he  gits  a  visit  from  God  and  that  means  a 
sight.  But  my  idee  is  that  rale  experunce  is  in 
deelin'  with  common  everyday  life,  when  a  man 
tawks  with  his  nabor,  trades  at  the  store,  plows 
his  mule  in  new  groun,  feels  like  cussin'  and  don't, 
pats  a  enemy  on  the  sholeder  instid  of  throwin' 
rocks  at  him,  gits  up  at  three  o'clock  in  the 
mornin'  to  visit  a  sick  nabor,  gives  money  to  the 
church  when  he  aint  got  but  mighty  leetle  any- 
whar,  bein'  mild  and  sweet-tempered  on  scourin' 
day  when  things  is  all  torn  up  in  the  house, 


THE  CREED  OF  BILDAD  AKERS.  2OI 

gittin'  down  from  a  mule  on  a  weekday  when 
you  are  all  gommed  up  with  sweat  and  dust  to 
tawk  to  some  ornery  sinner  about  his  mean  ways, 
and  sich.  Now  experunce,  cordin'  to  me,  is  helt 
in  all  them  things,  and  jest  how  you  do  and  come 
out  o'  them  things  detarmines  a  man's  rale  ex 
perunce.  And  you  kin  git  more  relijus  expe 
runce  outer  one  day  when  rumatiz  is  goin'  fer 
you  than  outer  a  hunderd  meetin's.  You  may 
not  feel  so  bloomin'  happy  in  the  rumatiz  bisness, 
but  you  have  got  a  sight  better  chance  to  show 
God  how  much  relijun  you've  got.  So  I  reckin 
its  bekase  I've  got  them  views  that  you  don't 
hear  me  orate  bout  my  convarsion  and  the  num 
ber  of  times  I  have  got  happy  in  meetin's.  These 
times  is  when  God  jest  visits  me.  But  walkin'  the 
common  muddy  roads  of  everyday  life  is  the 
time  when  God  is  naterally  hankerin'  to  walk 
with  me.  And  your  real  experunce  comes  when 
He  walks  with  you  jest  like  Enick  walked  with 
Jehovy.  I  don't  know  ef  you  ketch  my  pint,  but 
it  is  mighty  clar  in  my  own  noggin." 

"I  reckin  one  reason  I'm  a  Methdist  is  be 
kase  my  mammy  and  daddy  was.  Another  rea 
son,  I  like  the  doctrine  of  the  Methdists,  not  as 
sayin'  that  other  churches  has  not  a  site  of  doc 
trine  that  I  kin  tie  to.  I  was  never  a  biggotty 


2O2  BILDAD  AKERS :  HIS  BOOK. 

Methdist.  That's  lots  of  Baptisses  and  Presby- 
teruns  and  sich  whats  a  sight  better  than  me,  and 
that's  why  I'm  a  Methdist.  I  need  better  heftier 
docktrine  to  balance  me  and  keep  me  on  the  level." 
"I  was  convarted  when  I  was  mity  young.  I 
think  the  life  of  my  mammy  and  daddy  and  what 
I  larned  and  felt  in  Sundy  Scool  had  more  to  do 
with  my  seekin'  Christ  and  jinin'  the  church  than 
anything  else.  I  wasn't  convarted  right  arter  a 
long  stay  at  the  altar  and  arter  much  weepin'  and 
takin'  on,  though  many  is.  I  was  convarted  right 
arter  my  will  give  up  the  last  thing  I  knowed 
God  didn't  like.  I  sensed  the  change  as  clar  and 
strong  as  I  would  sense  the  change  in  takin'  the 
last  steps  from  a  dry  bank  inter  the  cold  water. 
Sence  that  day  I  have  douted  myself,  my  relijun, 
the  relijun  of  others,  but  never  the  fack  that 
there  is  reality  in  relijun  and  that  Jesus  Christ 
does  fergive  sins.  The  idee  of  me  havin'  any  pa- 
shuns  with  what  ole  man  Ellitt  said  some  time 
ago !  When  a  man  knows  a  thing,  he  knows  it, 
and  thats  me  when  it  comes  to  sayin'  ef  thar  is 
raly  anything  rale  in  relijun.  So  I  have  never 
been  in  the  habit  of  nosin'  round  among  strange 
hifalutin'  doctrines.  To  know  that  ef  a  pusson 
gives  up  his  sins  Christ  will  save  him  and  tell  him 
he's  saved  and  keep  him  saved  as  long  as  he's 


THE  CREED  OF  BILDAD  AKERS.  203 

willin'  to  be  kept  saved,  and  help  him  to  save 
others,  and  help  him  more  to  save  himself  the 
more  he  helps  to  save  others — this  is  bout  the 
kernel  of  all  my  doctrine,  and  I've  been  standin' 
on  it  a  long  time." 

"That's  why  most  of  my  relijun  has  been  in 
doin'.  The  doin'  is  jest  the  sprout  comin'  from 
the  seed  of  my  doctrine,  and  the  life  of  the  Sperrit 
is  in  that  seed.  A  pusson  kin  jest  by  himself  git 
But  I'm  not  a-sayin'  that  the  hunny  is  not  some- 
thin'  in  the  hands  of  God  he's  got  to  do  it  through 
some  work  fer  another  pusson.  That's  the  mane 
reason  I'm  a  Stewart  and  have  been  so  long.  The 
idee  of  a  Christian  who  don't  do  nothin'  is  as  re- 
dickulus  to  me  as  the  idee  of  a  fisherman  who 
never  tetched  a  pole  or  drug  a  net." 

"I  naterally  love  to  hear  preechin'.  When  you 
see  Bildad  Akers  outer  his  seat  you  may  know 
he's  sick  or  on  a  jurny.  I  never  hearn  a  gospel 
sarmont  that  I  didn't  get  some  hunny  outer  it. 
But  I'm  not  asayin'  that  the  hunny  is  not  some 
times  like  ole  Mrs.  Tanker's  buttermilk — nigh 
all  water.  Thar's  one  thing  I  think  the  present 
day  preechin'  is  a-likin'  in.  I  don't  think  it  deals 
enuff  with  the  little  plain  everyday  sins  and 
vartues.  That's  why  so  many  act  as  ef  it  is  all 
right  fer  em  to  git  mad,  and  use  bad  words,  and 


204  BILDAD  AKERS:  HIS  BOOK. 

tattle  bout  their  nabors,  and  not  pay  debts,  and  not 
keep  clean,  and  waste  time,  and  abuse  themselves 
in  varus  ways,  and  lie  in  givin'  in  taxes,  and 
cheatin'  at  the  poles,  and  sich — jest  so  they  hang 
on  to  the  doctrins  of  the  church  and  go  to  meet- 
in',  and  pay  quarterage  and  sich." 

"Now,  Ivry,  I  have  give  you  purty  much  all  I 
have  to  tell  you  about  my  relijun.  It  don't 
amount  to  much,  but  I  wouldn't  trade  it  off  fer 
all  the  mules  and  hosses  and  farms  and  gold  and 
silver  in  the  world.  So  ef  you  don't  heer  me 
offen  give  in  my  experunce  you  kin  member 
what  I  now  tell  you." 

At  this  juncture  Bildad  heard  the  market-house 
clock  strike  four.  He  said,  "Bless  my  soul,  ef  I 
didn't  come  in  to  stay  jest  a  minnit,  and  now  jest 
look  at  the  time  that  has  went  by.  I  sartinly 
must  go.  Confearance  will  soon  be  here,  won't 
it?  My  preecher  tole  me  he  had  evrything  up 
and — but  here  I'm  still  a-gassin'  when  I  ort  to 
be  on  the  way  to  the  depo.  Good-bye  fer  this 
time." 

Thus  Bildad  Akers  confessed  his  faith.  I  was 
glad  of  it.  The  sparrows  were  twittering  out 
side  the  window,  the  amber  glow  of  the  maple 
trees  was  deepening  in  the  light  of  the  westering 
sun,  the  roses  on  the  desk  were  sending  out  their 


THE  CREED  Of  BILDAD  AKERS.  2O5 

wealth  xof  delicate  perfume,  editorial  duties  were 
calling  me.  Yet,  for  minutes  and  minutes,  I  sat 
with  closed  ears  and  eyes,  beholding  with  eyes 
which  see  the  invisible  the  vision  of  a  simple 
child-like  soul  whose  every  chamber  was  aflame 
with  the  presence  of  the  Eternal.  It  was  the 
soul  of  Bildad  Akers,  the  quaint  rugged  philoso 
pher  of  old  Ebenezer. 


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